


Jeeves and The Mystery of Bertie's Uncle

by preux



Series: Bertie and Jeeves: International Men of Mystery [1]
Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Competent!Bertie, Dreams, Food, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-28
Updated: 2012-05-10
Packaged: 2017-11-04 10:46:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preux/pseuds/preux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertie and Jeeves come to an understanding, but become embroiled in a mystery of interesting proportions. Uncles and Aunts feature in this international thriller set in London, Calais, and Paris.  Rummy circumstances, Colney Hatch and unexpected backstories emerge like emerging whatstis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jeeves and the night to remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... in which activities occur in the coral pajamas, Jeeves loses his composure, and Bertie is gentle but firm. There is snuggling.

In his day, the last of the Woosters had imbibed many mystery thrillers.  Some chaps may find such tomes to be not improving, but each conveys to the grey matter a nub, like “what seems like the end is only the beginning of some larger mystery.” 

Rummy, but so it was. The events ending with Chuffnell Hall being sold to Mr. Stoker, the violent American millionaire, and Pauline Stoker becoming betrothed to good old Chuffy Chuffnell actually heralded, if that’s the word I want, the beginning of something else entirely. 

 

Once again, all was well chez Wooster.  The fatted calf had been stowed away with more than the usual gusto, and Jeeves oiled about the place setting all to rights like a healing zephyr while the young Wooster settled at the piano with a b and s mixed by Jeeves’ expert hand.  

“That was a delicious dinner, Jeeves.  Absolutely topping.”

“I am most gratified to hear that you enjoyed it, sir.”

“I did, very much.  Quite the thing, Jeeves.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“That potato… what do you call it, Jeeves?”

“Dauphinoise, sir.”

“Dauphinoise, yes that’s the one.  Divine. It smacked of the wonders of Anatole, but without the awful necessity of stealing cow creamers.” 

“You are very kind, sir.” Mercifully, he forbore to tell me what Dauphinoise was, how it was made, and that it had been named after a Dauphin, which one, in what year, and what his views had been on potatoes and crockery.  For his part, the y.m. knocked out several of the fruitiest, avoiding selections by Cab Calloway or other ditties that caused Jeeves to shy back like a startled hare. Hardly a yawn and stretch moved the slender frame when Jeeves shimmered up. 

“I have taken the liberty of laying out our coral pajamas, sir.”  

“Thank you Jeeves.  I am a bit wrung out, as it happens.”

“So it would appear, sir. Shall I attend to you?”

“Yes, please.”

The feelings ran a bit deep for idle chatter, but his hands on the studs soothed the Wooster spirit, and I said as much.  An infeni-something paused the Jeevisian fingers. “Thank you, sir,” he said with perhaps something more than his usual warmth.  “I am most happy to be back home again.”

“Not as happy as I am to have you back home again, Jeeves.”

“Thank you, sir.”

As he helped me settle under the covers for the night, the Wooster cup of contentment runnethed over. 

I had detected something more than the usual warmth in his tone as he bid the master good night. It was nearly a caress. A bit of a stir in the coral pajama bottoms called my attention to a problem. My overly fond feelings for Jeeves had also risen up during our reunion amid the ashes of my vacation cottage in Chuffnell Regis. 

I was hopeless without him, and did not want him toddling off because of the young master’s proclivi-whatsits.  Perhaps Wooster would apply his own pajamas and the Jeevsian presence in the bath should be curtailed. 

**Jeeves**

Contrary to his usual habit of attending the Drones Club after an absence, Mr. Wooster remained at home with me for the evening. He showed more than his habitual good-humored appreciation of the meal I prepared, commenting that it “smacked of the wonders performed by Anatole, without the awful necessity of stealing silver cow creamers.”  This worthy sentiment nearly caused me to laugh aloud, but with some difficulty I managed to restrain myself.

Unlike me, Mr. Wooster requires a great deal of rest, and the excitement of the preceding weeks had taken a visible toll on him. For this reason, among others, I refrained from commenting on the pink socks he acquired during an afternoon excursion. For his part, Mr. Wooster confined his musical repertoire to selections I found at least moderately unobjectionable.

At his request, we played duets. My strong attraction for Mr. Wooster, which had in part prompted my previous departure, required strict management.  Fortunately, my predecessor had left a terrible mess, and I was able to limit my proximity to Mr. Wooster’s slim, supple body and the heady scent of his cologne as it mixed with the indefinable muskiness of his person.  His new pink socks were an added inconvenience as they made my heart race. 

Although Mr. Wooster remained unusually quiet, he seemed to glow with contentment, showing no offence that I had described him as “eccentric.” When he told me that my mere presence was a balm for his spirit, it took every particle of my self control not to press my lips warmly to his own. I let more warmth than usual creep into my tone as I bid him goodnight.  My feelings on seeing some evidence of his arousal in response were rather melancholy. 

 

**Bertie**

Perhaps it was the ability to relax finally after the slings and whatnots of outrageous whatsits. Whatever the reason, nightmare followed upon nightmare. 

Great bally choking, blinding clouds of smoke like the hell fires had somehow invaded the kitchen at the Ritz. It was worse than being attacked by Midianites or other unpleasant chappies of old who parried with the prophets. Then, the last of the Woosters was trapped on Stoker’s boat and Stilton Cheesewright laid chase through billowing clouds, brandishing a steak-and-kidney pie and wanting advice about wooing Florence Craye. The only clearing in the haze was walled in by bladed banjolele’s like a phalanx of whoosits seizing the thingummy. Behind, men in black shorts wielded carving knives and knapped flints.

A cry rent the night, and a muzzy-headed Wooster only dimly realized that said c. was emitted by self.  The slender limbs snarled among the sheets, and terror flooded the onion until a warm, firm, reassuring hand settled on one coral shoulder.  The narrow feel stopped pedaling, but that did nothing to muffle the embarrassing series of yelps issuing from the pipes in a much higher register than the usual pleasant, light baritone. 

“Do not be alarmed, sir” said a voice. A few more moments were necessary to shake off the tentacles of Morpheus. Jeeves appeared to be in my very bed, bravely protecting me from the terrors of the night.  He was bare-chested, which added an interesting new element to the already considerable fluttering already underway in the Wooster breast. Even given the horrors dancing behind the eyelids, activities in the coral pajama bottoms indicated immoderate gladness to see him. Self lay panting like the dogs after a hunt, amid the snarl of bedclothes, emitting an occasional helpless bleat like a tormented mutton.  

Jeeves sported only a set of pink undershorts, and the old bean registered that the Jeevesian frame far exceeded the master's girth.  A chorus line of topping muscles danced before the cerulean orbs.

Despite the sore temptation to crawl into the burnished arms of my savior, I opened the mouth to send him back to his lair. A high-pitched yipping sound issued forth like a chihuahua that had had its tail trodden upon by an American millionaire. 

“So sorry Jeeves,” jibbered an unsteady falsetto. I cleared the pipes.  “Terribly bad form waking you before the rosy fingered dawn and all that. It won’t happen again.  Rather rummy things, Jeeves, dreams. What?” 

I expected a rather tired “Indeed, sir,” before he retired for the night, or the wee hours of morning, whichever it was.  What I heard instead was sort of a juddering sigh.  Jeeves leaned back, shifting his weight to the knee he had rested on the bed to reach me. Another sigh followed, more a gasp, as though he were inhaling ragged shards of glass.  This was unaccountable.  I had never seen the man so much as frown.

“I say, Jeeves,” I pulled the trembling legs free of the blankets and by a Hurcu-thingum effort sat up without tumbling onto the floor.  Jeeves stopped moving, but I could feel his weight on the bed. “Jeeves?” I squawked. 

Something was more amiss than a purloined cow creamer. I grasped a Jeevsian hand just as a sob shook his corpus. The heart turned to a lightly jellied liquid in my chest.  Oddly, my mind cleared. Slowly and carefully, I pulled my valet into the still-quaking willowy limbs. He resisted but the iron will of the Woosters prevailed, or perhaps it was the soft crooning noises. Soon enough, we were leaning back against the pillows. Jeeves wept quietly into the coral pajamas. I rubbed his bare back. Delish.

Scales fell from the Wooster peepers.  My mustache, the mobster fedora, and the banjolele were suddenly revealed as attempts to deny what he really meant to me, to keep him at a distance. I loved him. His presence in my life was necessary for my well-being, not just because he bailed me out of the soup, not just because his presence balmed the Wooster soul.  Without his companionship, life was not worth living.  Added to that, I dearly wanted to press my lips against every inch of his miraculously topping c. 

**Jeeves**

I showered before sitting down with the household accounts. I told myself that I wanted my hair to dry by the time I retired, but I now suspect I sought to wash off the old life and begin something new. My things were due the next day, so I would have to sleep in my spare pair of undershorts, a minor inconvenience in the flat. Mr. Wooster would surely not awaken until the early afternoon, and I would not likely be disturbed. 

I slept almost instantly on lying down.  Oddly, I dreamt of the war.  I had served an officer who chose me to be his personal assistant and companion on a series of dangerous and difficult missions requiring stealth, tact, and intelligence.

Captain Woolf had set a written test.  I scored very well, and was therefore considered despite my youth. During the interviews he eliminated candidates, and eventually, I was one of only three. In our last talk, he asked me to disrobe, insisting that I remove even my undershorts. I was embarrassed as he inspected my naked body with what seemed like an excessive interest. He accepted me as his assistant.  

Captain Woolf noticed my interest in learning, and for the first time, I found my thoughts and opinions solicited, gently corrected if need be, and actively fostered. His thoughtful counsel guided my personal studies. My first treasured volume of the poet Burns came from him, and after the war I learned that he had bequeathed me a small legacy.

My feelings were not all so positive. He had also used me intimately, claiming that my curious mind and not the fact that I was what he termed “magnificently hung” was the chief attraction.  My insides still curl up in mortification when I hear the word magnificent. 

My dreams were not of the battle in which my officer lost his life, but of the evening that marked a difference in our intimate relations. On that particular night, we were alone in a tent at the edge of a large camp, squeezed together in his cot, and I was lying nearly naked, my undershorts halfway down my thighs, while he handled my private parts in the dim light.  I tried not to writhe with the deep sense of humiliation I felt at being viewed in such a way.  My awakening arousal under such treatment only shamed me more. 

He quoted a poem I especially liked. “Please, sir,” I gasped, “not the poet Burns.  Not like this.” I will never forget the look of astonished guilt that played over my officer’s face in that instant. He immediately unhanded me. Then, pulling the blanket up from the cot, he covered me and apologized for his language. My body almost involuntarily contracted and a smothered whimper passed my lips as I hurriedly replaced my shorts.  

“Jeeves, lad, I am deeply, deeply sorry.” he had said, with a startling warmth of emotion. “I did not realize.  You have no idea what a comfort you are to me.  I have never intended to shame you, please believe me.” I quivered, unable to speak.  I was very young, having falsified my age to be able to enlist, and therefore resilient. Afterward, we embarked on a much more satisfying association.

A muffled cry roused me. Mr. Wooster called me in tones of absolute terror.  I was at his side before I had fully awakened, heedless of my state of undress. The awful recollection of Brinkley’s attempt on Mr. Wooster’s life assailed me, but I found him physically unharmed, and the awful vision of him weltering in a pool of his own blood receded.  I spoke several times before he woke. 

My emotions were unsettled and heightened from my own dreams, and I was nearly overcome by Mr. Wooster’s reflexive apologies.  I wanted more than anything to gather him in my arms and soothe him, but I could never take such a liberty.  The impossibility of our situation, for I was well aware of Mr. Wooster’s feelings of desire, crashed down upon me in that instant, choking me with grief and longing.

I underestimated Mr. Wooster, who even in his own wretched state, took my hand, speaking my name in a tone of deep concern. I lost all composure.  I had never felt so mortified, but Mr. Wooster’s gentle attentions overcame my resistance and I found myself weeping into his shoulder. 


	2. The light after the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves and Bertie come to an understanding. Pajamas are shed. Lips are locked, but even though a bit of kissing occurs, Jeeves remains nervous and in need of quiet reflection. Bertie remains gentlemanly.

**Bertie**

Jeeves eventually stilled, his weight settling the old jangling nerves, which felt as though a school treat had occurred in some crucial ganglion, if that is the word I want. It was a mark of the severity of the case that he was not already clad in a clean suit and chivvying me into dry pajamas. Rather than slapping on the stuffed amphibian and shuffling off to polish my favorite ties, he sighed and nestled more closely against the slender frame, like a limp, but nicely muscular, rag.  “My very dear fellow.” The pipes creaked like Aunt Agatha’s kitchen door.

Jeeves lifted the dial, tears clustered on eyelashes like orient drops of dew.  I stroked his hair away from his face, more to soothe myself than him. “Please, forgive me, sir….” he stopped, overcome, and rested his brain-filled head on the liberally dampened coral shoulder. Our past adventures passed by the Wooster grey matter and another set of scales fell on the road to whatsit.  

“We may be a bit past sir this evening, Jeeves.” A thought crept into the Wooster onion.  “Did I call for you?”  I must have sounded as though devils were strewing the Wooster insides about the place.

The Jeevesian composure crumpled slightly. He tried to scuttle back to his lair like a handsome crab, and panic gripped the Wooster heart. “Please don’t go.” I gasped.  He stiffened. An edge of manly panic crept into the quivering voice, “please.”

“Sir,” he said, sounding as though he had a wire whisk wedged in the larynx.  I handed him my bedside carafe and he quaffed deeply, then shifted, revealing a shapely thigh, which further softened the already mushy Wooster brain.  I lit a gasper.

The Wooster baritone cracked.  “Well, Jeeves.  This is bally well beyond the young master, but we cannot go on as we did before.” I handed him the gasper.

He drew deeply and set the gasper neatly in an ash tray. “No, sir. I believe the strain would be most disagreeable.” 

Jeeves took my hand. I was about to close the e.s and turn over the lips for a much-needed pashing.  “But it’s my responsibility to keep you safe,” I said, surprising both of us. “I know I took a bally liberty just now. I should have thought… but I feel so blasted useless.” He made an incredulous noise.  “I’ll do whatever you like, if you tell me.”

His pupils dilated, turning his deep blue eyes nearly black.  He released my hand, and I felt a shock of disappointment until a trembling arm slipped around the equally shaky Wooster waist.  He slowly unbuttoned the tear-stained coral pajama top and removed it from the quivering Wooster shoulders, smoothing his warm palm over my skin far more than strictly necessary. A sort of purr issued forth from the W. lips. He pulled me into an embrace and leaned back into the pillows.  

“This feels bally wonderful, Jeeves.”

“Yes, sir, it does.  Will you be able to...?”

But I had dozed off.   

***

I stirred to life nestled against a large muscular shoulder. The Jeevsian head rested lightly on mine, and it was clear that he had lain awake for some time holding the willowy form gently as I slept. I had never felt so utterly cherished. The onion swam, and the frame contracted, clutching him close.   

“Good morning, sir,” Jeeves sounded a bit more like his usual fresh from the box self. His fingers found the back of the Wooster neck and gently kneaded. Incoherent sounds of gruntlement issued forth as the willowy frame nestled itself against the source of these earthly delights. 

“’Morning Jeeves.” We lay quietly, lost in our respective thoughts.  He continued to knead. “That feels just topping.” 

“I have given your request some consideration, sir,” Jeeves said after a bit.

“And what was the verdict?”  I had no bally idea what he was talking about, but trusted that he would explain at length as was his custom.

“I do want to be with you, sir,” he said. I nearly bounced out of the bed, but Jeeves, ever anticipating the young master’s needs, tightened his hold at the opportune moment, then smoothed the slender form back down and resumed kneading. “From very early in our association I have been increasingly touched by your integrity, your generosity and your code of honor. I have come to feel for you a great level of personal devotion.  Needless to say, these feelings are alloyed to a passionate physical attraction.”  The Wooster heart leapt gladly.  “However, I could not forgive myself if my desires compromised you in any way.”

“Jolly good Jeeves.”  I levered up on one elbow to find that the ravages of the night before had not completely left my man’s dial. “Just remember that the open and friendly Wooster has been a mask for many years, hiding the truth. How long were you in my employ before you realized?”

The stuffed a. materialized as he mulled this over. “Yes, sir, it was some considerable time.” He went pinkish about the ears and I realized that the tightness of the Wooster pajamas had not gone unnoticed. He shifted his weight. “I must begin your tea.”  The willowy limbs flailed, clasping at him a bit desperately. Something squawked. Bally embarrassing. He quirked one side of his mouth in fond amusement.

“Jeeves, I know you want to be up and doing, but the Wooster spirit remains battered and in need of succor and whatnot.” 

He regarded me, the expression of fondness not abating.  “I will stay with you until you fall back to sleep, sir.”

A bold thought formed in the Wooster brain. “I’d… not to be forward, and do feel free to say no, of course, but I’d like to kiss you a bit, first.”  I feared that I would be greeted once again by the stuffed frog, but the fondness of his expression deepened, and a smile, an actual smile, bent the Jeevesian lips.  I boggled.  “Jeeves, you’re smiling,” I breathed.  “I didn’t know you could.  It’s quite smashing.”

“It happens sometimes, sir,” he said, cupping my face in his hand. The Wooster heart nearly burst with gladness.

He shimmered up into a seated position and waited patiently while the gangling limbs configured themselves. We grinned at each other for several centuries and joined the lips. It took some time to dispose the hands and noses, but we soon got the hang of it. He was delicious. His mouth was firm and insistent and his hands were gentle on my face and arms and shoulders. I ran my hands through his silky hair relishing the taste of his tongue in my mouth and the feel of his skin against mine.

We surfaced for air and delighted burbling flowed from the ruby lips.  Jeeves pressed our foreheads together, then exerted some control over the sitch. During the proceedings, I had crawled into the Jeevesian lap, and much straining was evident in the pajama and undershorts regions.  He leaned back, resting my head against his shoulder. I hardly awoke when he carefully slipped out of my arms and settled the covers back around me. “Bally marvelous, Jeeves,” I blibbled sleepily. A fond chuckle rumbled about the place, but that might have been my imagination.

**Jeeves**

Mr. Wooster has rendered me delirious with love. When he lay in my arms, the morning light creeping in around the draperies, I felt a sense of contentment such as I had never known.  His reaction on wakening in my arms warmed my very soul and the suggestion that we do “a bit” of kissing melted the heart in my breast.  

With difficulty, I forced myself to pull back from our embraces.  I was deeply grateful for his easy acquiescence.  Few persons could show such reflexive generosity of spirit in such a situation, and I well know that if Mr. Wooster had decided to be even the slightest bit insistent, it would have been impossible to deny him something I want so much myself.

This brought my mind to another, far more serious danger.  My fondness for Mr. Wooster opened a part of my heart that I had carefully locked away.

Yet it all seemed strangely inevitable. Hard as we had tried to set our feelings aside, to find women to marry, and to separate ourselves, we simply could not.  When he fell asleep against my shoulder, I recalled our experiences together and, with some embarrassment, the entries about him in the Junior Ganymede club book.  Although I had allowed Mr. Wooster to think that the club book painted him as a sort of good-tempered buffoon, my writing had been somewhat eulogistic.

It would take some time to think through our situation carefully and make adequate plans to protect Mr. Wooster from harm in case we were discovered.

 


	3. An understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncle George interferes with plans for added snuggling. Paisley is proffered, and the upper lip is stiffened. Will Bertie and Jeeves be able to engage in fusion of soul?

**Bertie**

Two ack emmas later, a bright light flared much before the usual time of rising. Jeeves hovered by the window, disgruntlement indicated by a slight narrowing of the e.s. A cup of perfectly-brewed Darjeeling steamed on the table.  “Blast it, Jeeves. What time is it?” I meant it to sting.

Jeeves had reverted to his professional demeanor, and the household tone had been subdued. Although I had kept up a cheerful appearance with the Drones, Jeeves and I had crossed the Rubicon and there was no turning back to the carefree days of bachelorhood, not that they had been terribly free of care, given the constant threat of engagements and wielding of carving knives, not to mention the occasional gunfire, incarceration and kidnapping.  

“It is not yet ten o-clock, sir. Lord Yaxley is here. I have taken the liberty of laying out our Harris tweed suit.”

I groaned, sat up, groaned again and curled over like a fretful porcupine. He silently turned the usually squeaky lock, then proffered two aspirins and a glass of water with rather the air of a high priest performing a sacred office. “Shall I help you dress, sir?”

I lurched unsteadily on the pins and emitted soft sounds like a distressed heifer. Overcome by dizziness, I rested the onion on the Jeevesian shoulder, and made a noise that can only be described as a whimper. He slipped his free arm around my waist. “Are you ill, sir?”

“No, Jeeves.” I had promised him time to think, so I stiffened the u. l. and raised the old egg. Aunt Maude called for Jeeves.

He shimmered out and by the time he rematerialized, I had cleansed and donned the Wooster underclothes. He removed a quaking razor from the Wooster fist and rasped off the stubbIe, cupping the back of the Wooster head almost tenderly.   

As Jeeves poured the willowy limbs into the Harris tweed suit, I noted a tie and waistcoat of magenta paisley in the old clothes pile. Rack the old bean as I might, I didn’t recall smuggling it into the flat. “I say, Jeeves,” I said, handing him the article. 

Jeeves held up the waistcoat by a thumb and forefinger. A nearly cheerful Wooster shrugged into the thing and buttoned it with satisfaction. Jeeves shot the paisley a baleful glance, refused to settle my tie and issued out of the room.

 

**Jeeves**

Fortunately, planning for concealment and escape in the event of discovery was reasonably straightforward. I had the bedroom drapes relined, oiled all the locks in the flat, as well as all the bedsprings, and had new shutters installed in the kitchen and pantry areas.

I had finally gathered my thoughts and was planning to approach Mr. Wooster when Lord and Lady Yaxley made an unanticipated and vexing early morning call. Lord Yaxley questioned me rather closely about my reasons for returning to Mr. Wooster’s household. A sum of money Lord Yaxley had given me in thanks for securing his marriage, intended to allow me to open a bookshop, proved to be less of a blessing than one would have thought. I was forced to tell him that family obligations had necessitated other uses for the funds.

Thankfully, Lady Yaxley and I had been acquainted before her elevation to nobility and she claimed much of my attention.  “It is good to see you, Lady Yaxley,” I said, gently disengaging her from my arm.

“Ah Reggie, always so formal!” she said fondly, patting me affectionately on the arm. 

Mr. Wooster’s state was quite pitiable. He let out a whimpering yelp, quite unlike the low, aggravated growling noises that characterize his usual voice of displeasure on being awakened prematurely. I did what I could to comfort him and went so far as to leave out a truly revolting magenta paisley tie and waistcoat that Lady Yaxley, whose tastes were sometimes a bit low, had chosen. 

 

**Bertie**

“Bertie, don’t you look handsome!” the new a. greeted me effusively, detaching herself from Jeeves, who retreated out of arm’s length. She beamed at the tie and waistcoat. “Piggy was positive that you would prefer something more conservative, but you seem like such a cheerful young man.”

Jeeves shimmered and attempted to press a cup of tea into the Wooster fingers, but I waved it away. 

Uncle George looked fondly at his bride. “You have proven me wrong again, my dear. Bertie, I came to have a word with you.  I thought we might go to the park.” 

I started, glad that no tea was available to splashed on my new waistcoat. The park had been Uncle Willoughby’s location for dressing down the nephew. Jeeves shimmered around with Uncle Georges’ outer togs before I had stopped boggling, and Uncle George hustled me out the door before Jeeves could hand me my top coat. I hardly had time to be amused as Aunt Maudie reattached herself to “Dear Reggie’s” arm.

 

**Jeeves**

My attempts to ruin Mr. Wooster’s revolting new waistcoat and tie, gifts from Lady Yaxley, were unsuccessful. Leaving aside the impropriety of such garments, it would have afforded some time to assure him of my regard.

Lady Yaxley insisted on taking tea in the kitchen, “just like the old days, Reggie. You seem so different with your young man about.”

I nodded.  “It is a professional requirement, Lady Yaxley.”

“He still seems to understand you a good deal, Reggie,” she observed.  “But these toffs are so difficult to understand. I used to think it was a shame that Piggy and I lost so many years, and I hear that his first wife was unkind. But when I was young this life would have killed me.”

I had no doubts that as a young woman, her situation as Mr. George Wooster’s wife would have been difficult even if she had been able to curb her habit of calling him “Piggy.”

Lady Yaxley looked at me narrowly.  “Reggie, you seem almost embarrassed every time I mention young Bertie.  Is something wrong?”

So little of the matter was suitable for discussion that I was at a momentary loss for words.  “It does so happen, Lady Yaxley, that he has taken to wearing pink socks and I have been quite preoccupied with how to address this problem.”

Lady Yaxley laughed and slapped my arm.  “Ah, pink is so cheerful. So, what would you like to play for me today?”

She chose a selection that was a bit beyond my skill, but I was assured of a kind listener.  I was largely self-taught at the piano, although some very pleasant jazz musicians in New York patiently instructed me. One had been quite friendly, and had I not already been attached to Mr. Wooster, it might have been a welcome invitation. 

 

**Bertie**

Uncle George seemed less than, what’s the word—amenable—to the idea of returning for a top coat against the chill, so I stiffened the u. l. and muscled forth, trying not to let the teeth chatter in the bean. U.G. was in a quandary as his valet did not see peeper to peeper with the new Lady Yaxley on paisley and bright colors. I was unable to offer much of the old sage. 

We reached the park and sallied forth to a bench out in the middle of a patch of ground, which was ideal for private communication. Uncle George interrupted a Wooster statement on checks versus tweeds.  “Bertie, I have decided to make you the next Lord Yaxley.”

The whangee and Wooster toppled sideways off the bench.

“Do stop goofing around, Bertie.”

I brushed some dust from the tweeded rear and resettled the limbs. Uncle George continued, “Jeeves has had a most welcome steadying influence on you. It has been refreshing to see you dressed respectably and not like some sort of bohemian clown.” 

I retrieved the whangee, which had flown up again. “Bohemian clown?!” I sputtered.

“Do stop interrupting. Maudie persuaded me to give Jeeves a means of fulfilling his dream of running a bookshop. I know how much his service means to you, but she insisted. He used the money for a family matter, he says, and had to return to your service.”

I boggled, suspecting that Jeeves had fabricated the family situation. Jeeves was sitting on an opportunity to commune daily with the poet Burns and that frightful Tolstoi bloke?  Not to mention that bally Spinoza character. I fell off the bench again.

“Do sit still, Bertie. You can’t bing about like that in the House of Lords, it pips the speakers something fearful.” Uncle George moved over to give me more room.  “He said that his place was at your side.  It gave me pause, even though I am quite sure that Jeeves did not mean anything out of the common way. You may not remember, Bertie, but Willoughby and his valet, Brooks, had an understanding.” The blood turned to sorbet in the veins.  My mouth opened and closed like that of a beached guppy, but Uncle George carried on in an absent sort of voice, as if seeing horrible things in the back of his mind.

“We all imagined that Willoughby’s status would protect them.  It even became a bit of a joke, but they grew careless and, one frightful day, they were discovered.  Brooks was blamed.  They beat him senseless and took him off to Colney Hatch. It was covered up as such things are.

“Roddy Glossop helped smuggled Brooks away. Willoughby was never the same. The only thing that seemed to perk him up was you, Bertie.”  I shuddered as much of this so-called perking had been singularly unpleasant. The Wooster corpus still bore a few marks from some of his fruitier efforts.

“Agatha saw the similarities between you and Willoughby, but I wonder if you have the stamina to deal with the trials of a loveless marriage.  Mine was quite painful.”

The mouth flapped a bit.  “Uncle George, thank you, but I have no idea, ah whatsit, and thingummy. That is, rather.”

“That’s just as well, Bertie. I understand that Brooks is in Paris, and I need a great favor.” Uncle George took a slim box from his jacket.  “I found these among some old papers.  Some are yours, and there is something that should be conveyed to Brooks.”

I took the box from Uncle George and slipped it into my pocket. “Good lad,” he patted my shoulder.  Then I dropped my whangee again and Uncle George sighed as I scrabbled about for it on the ground.

We caught a cab back to the flat and Uncle George declined to come in. 

I oozed up to the flat with the bean in a considerable stir and  slipped in the door without the customary “what ho!”  Jeeves was picking out an uncertain ditty on the ivories while Aunt Maude looked on raptly.   

Aunt Maude’s glad cries on seeing the nephew were punctuated by much bone crushing hugging.  Jeeves sprang from the piano bench as though scalded, slapping the stuffed amphibian firmly across the old dial and shimmered about, settling Aunt Maud’s outwear to rights and opening the door so as not to keep Uncle George waiting.

He moved to take my hat, gloves and whangee. “Will you be lunching out, sir?” he asked in a voice replete with thingness. 

I shook my head, teeth chattering in the lemon.  “I believe I will stay in.”

He took a brush to my suit. “Do you desire anything particular?”

Aside from my desire to be enfolded in his warm embrace followed by much bare-skinned cuddling, I could not think of a thing. “Whatever is in the house will be fine.” 

“If it meets with your approval, I will start a fire in the front room, sir.”

“Carry on.” I chattered. I staggered to the living room and tipped self into a chair with a mystery thriller. Jeeves covered the lap with an afghan before he bent to his work, worked incendiary magic and oiled off into the kitchen. Thoughts roiled through the bean as I sat, turning the same page back and forth at intervals. 

As a smallish boy, about to go off to boarding school, the young stripling was uneasy and without confidant. Brooks had been the one to assure that there were far worse things than what went on at boarding school and taught me a few self-defense moves. It had really eased the bean.  He also had Cook send candy and cakes, which had made me quite popular. I had never known why he nipped off.

Jeeves shimmered about decanting wine and bunging down an expertly-cooked cutlet, and shovelling off before there was time for more than subdued thanks. He snatched up the plates as soon as I had finished, saying he had an appointment, and flowed from the flat at top speed.

 

**Jeeves**

Lady Yaxley directed the conversation to my fondness for Mr. Wooster, and I could really not think of anything to say to her except to praise his generosity. 

Lady Yaxley's kind features wrinkled into a frown.  “It is so hard to learn about Piggy’s family.”

Understanding her motivation, I offered to help. She eagerly asked why Mrs. Travers yelled so much and knocked people over. I smothered a laugh, and explained her fondness for hunting. Lady Yaxley was most interested to hear about the behavior of the twins and their inability to gain acceptance into the Drones Club.  She promised not to discuss our conversation with her husband, for which I thanked her gravely.  

Lady Yaxley saw Mr. Wooster enter the house before I did, and rushed to greet him with her usual effusiveness. I did my best to see that Mr. Wooster was comfortably fed and tended, then left to do my usual errands, giving him some privacy to consider his thoughts.

 

**Bertie**

I slipped out to the Drones before Jeeves returned from his errands and ankled in to find a darkened flat. I oozed to the chamber, donned the lemon-colored pajamas and folded into the bed.  I lay there for some time, troubled thoughts floating about the onion.  I was utterly knackered—Barmy mentioned that I looked the slightest touch peaked, so it must have been quite bad—but I simply could not close the e.s. I reached for the bedside carafe to find a mini Sahara. There had never been a lapse of this sort. Apparently the strain of our situation was getting to him. I wandered to the kitchen. Jeeves had never approved of eating between meals, but I had been on rather short rations over the past weeks. 

I was surprised to see the light burning.  Jeeves was an early riser and should have been fast asleep by the time I arrived from the evening revels.  Jeeves, clad only in his underwear, looked up from a book.  It was his copy of the poet Burns, open to the fly leaf, where someone had inscribed it.  His fingers rested on the writing and he had a look of profound sadness. On seeing me, his professional face made an immediate appearance. 

“Sir?” He caught sight of the carafe. “I do apologize.”

I felt a bit stung. Not so s. that I failed to admire his truly corking musculature, but the thing rankled nevertheless. He oiled off, presumably into the bedroom, leaving me gaping at his broad manly shoulders and thinking about how absolutely ripping his bottom must be beneath those shorts. I started to root about in the larder to distract myself from the rather eager activity underway in the lower portion of the lemon-colored pajamas.

Jeeves glided back in.  “May I help you with something, sir?”

“Dash it, Jeeves!” I started violently, banging into the table and knocking several tins from the larder.  Nervous energy gave way to sudden exhaustion and I slumped like a sack of slumpy things.

Jeeves silently picked up the tins and set them to rights. It amazed me that he could turn into a valet again even while practically naked.

“Why haven’t you spoken to me again, Jeeves?” I asked before I thought.  My voice sounded sad and perhaps a bit lost.

For an instant, he looked as if a fish had smacked against his head. “I was not sure you desired it, sir” he said, almost meekly. 

“Of course, I bally well desire it, Jeeves.” I said. “How could I not desire it? It’s been blasted days… wanting to kiss you and … well, whatnot with you. It’s been bally agonizing these last few days. I thought you needed some time for the fish to percolate through the old onion. You tell Uncle George that your place is at my side, but you’re so… professional.  It stings.”  I made a sound rather like a sob being choked back.

He went white. I could have kicked myself. “I do apologize, sir.  I had meant to speak with you once Lady Yaxley left this morning.  However, you have seemed distressed since you spoke with Lord Yaxley. I did not wish to upset you further.”

Something snapped in the Wooster heart, leaving the limbs dangling useless. It likely meant that he did not want more than a professional relationship. Bally heartbreaking. “I’m sorry, Jeeves,” I said, stiffening the u. l. “Please forgive my outburst.” I turned to commence the wailing and gnashing of teeth in the privacy of my bedroom, but Jeeves had trickled up beside me and reached for my hand. I forked it over and looked up.

He looked down, a sad, kind sort of expression illuminating the dial. I was so bally knackered. I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead on his shoulder.  He made a comforting sort of noise in the back of his throat, the type of thing that mother nightingales must make to soothe the nightingale young in times of crisis, and rubbed my back. I eased against him with a sigh, and he held me close, one hand caressing the back of my neck and the other firm around my waist.  I could have wept, I felt so relieved. I wrapped my arms about him and pressed my face into his shoulder.

“Come sit down, sir,” he said, gently. He considered the stiff chairs for a moment, then he guided me into his room.  I nearly toppled over in my surprise, but he seemed to expect this and, setting one hand firmly at the small of the back, corralled young Wooster forward like a shepherd herding a frightened sheep from dangerously rocky slopes.  I had never crossed the door into his room, viewing it as a hallowed space.  In fact, it was a bit shabby. I felt rather ashamed, as if I were invading his privacy, which I suppose I was. “Jeeves,” I said again. 

“Shh,” he said, settling me on his rather narrow bed, and sitting beside me. He slipped an arm around the back and took my hand. “When you are in my room, I would very much like it if you called me Reggie, sir.”

 “I say, Jeeves, that would be smashing.”

“Reggie, sir” he said, his face a study in fond tenderness.

“Reggie. Would you perhaps consider calling me by my name as well?”

“Bertram?” I glowed, even though I detest being called Bertram.

“Very good, Jeeves. Reggie.  You know, I wasn’t sure you had a first name. One doesn’t like to pry, after all.” 

“I believe we have much to discuss.”

 

**Jeeves**

I hoped to see Mr. Wooster in the flat on my return from errands, but he had gone to his club, and I decided to defer such conversation until after his breakfast the next morning.  I had several confessions to make, which I feared might dampen his enthusiasm for beginning a more intimate liaison. 

I attended my own club for dinner.  A friend suggested that I find another employer. “All this business with kidnapping and fires and carving knives.  He seems to suit you, but really there has to be some peace in your life, Reggie.”

Back at the flat, I set things to rights and sorted the clothes that had been damaged during Mr. Wooster’s adventures in and around Chuffnell Hall. I found several bottles of cheap whiskey hidden behind the tins in the back larder.  A shudder ran through me when I considered the great danger Mr. Wooster had been in during our separation. 

I hoped my clothing would arrive the next day, and once again I sponged and aired my suit, thankful that I had had time to at least acquire new undergarments. I was setting Mr. Wooster’s room to rights, wearing only some of these very same new undergarments, when I heard him at the door.  It was much earlier than I expected him, and I found myself hiding in the hallway, eager not to be discovered in a state of undress.

My emotions remained unsettled, and I was unable to sleep.  Rising from my bed, I took up the volume of the poet Burns that my officer had given me.  I recalled his difficulty in inscribing the volume.

 

**For Pvt Jeeves, with my thanks.**

**Read this and remember your Captain.**

**W Woolf**

 

He had wanted, I know, to write something to me that would reveal his true feelings. I considered, with sadness, that my situation with Mr. Wooster would be similarly secret.  We would have to lie to our closest friends and associates about our most important relationship. 

 


	4. Tender is the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nuzzling is followed by...well, whatnot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeeves is very preoccupied and talky. Bertie wonders of he should be a little less preux.

**Bertie**

“Jeeves. Reggie, I mean, I don’t mean to pry.”  I would have babbled on, but the Jeevesian lips found mine.  “Topping,” I murmured when I came up for air, resting the glowing Wooster bean on a broad shoulder. 

“You are such a delight.  I am sorry that my thoughts took so long to organize, sir.  Bertram.”

“Please stop apologizing,” I said twining the fingers with his. He lifted my hand and kissed it. I reached for the volume still in his other hand to set it down so that we could get to, well, whatnot.

His professional face flashed. “It was a gift from my officer.”

“I don’t mean to pry, Jeeves,” I began, trying to explain about the whatnot.

“We had an understanding. I was dreaming of him when you cried out.”

“I say, I am sorry. I mean to say, Jeeves.  I, rather, Reggie…”  It seemed wrong to pry, so I fumbled about for a bit along the same lines until Jeeves caught my drift.

“He called to me just before he was killed.”

By this time, we had disposed ourselves across the bed, the Jeevesian head resting in the lemon-colored lap, and said h. being stroked by self.  His e.s were closed and little moans of contentment passed his lips from time to time. “Uncle George suggested I have a talk with you.” 

“He read rather too much into my decision to serve you. My desire to own a bookshop was a dream of retirement. I am not old enough to retire and maintain my association with my club.” He sat up and smoothed my eyebrow with a thumb.  “This was not what distressed you, however.”

“He told me about my uncle…” The Wooster throat closed.

“I expected that you knew. It created a great deal of talk.”

“Uncle George asked me to bring something to Brooks in Paris.” Jeeves agreed, and when I asked if he had anything else to relate before the whatnot, did a passable imitation of a marble statue. 

“I do have some information to divulge.”

“Spill forth, Jeeves.”

“I…” he hesitated. “Your uncle and aunts have requested that I ensure your wardrobe be more conservative,” said Jeeves in a soupy tone.  I fell onto the rug.  He looked a bit guilty as he helped me untangle the Wooster feet from the chair legs.   

“It’s rummy. I do not care for it.”

“I apologize,” said Jeeves, kneading the back of my neck with a hand. Wooster emitted a sort of low purr. “Dressing as befits your rank is a duty. I can stop accepting their tips, but I risk incurring their ill will.”

“I hadn’t considered that.”

“There was no need that you should. This brings me to another topic. I have considered some plans in the event of discovery.”

“Of course,” I said, closing my eyes as he kneaded.  “Where will we go?” I wondered absently. Jeeves froze once again. 

“If we are discovered,” I said, patiently, turning the e.s up to look at his expression.  Jeeves still looked a bit poleaxed, so I repeated the question.  “Where will we go if we are discovered?”

Jeeves stammered.  “I had not…” he began, and closed his mouth helplessly. 

It took a moment to adjust my thoughts. “Jeeves, if you think for one moment that I will remain in England and be forced to marry Honoria Glossop while you flee to Tahiti to prance naked with island boys…” Jeeves interrupted this effusion. 

“I had not considered that you would wish…” he began, choking a bit.

“Don’t be daft, Jeeves,” I said.  “Reggie, I mean. Of course I would wish. I am wishing right now, as a matter of fact.  How could I possibly not wish?” 

“There is also another matter,” Jeeves said in a tone that curdled the blood. “If we become more intimate, I would feel obliged to be more personally open with you.  Many of my actions have been self serving, particularly when I did not know you well and still thought of you as a kind but essentially vapid man.” 

“Vapid?!” I sputtered indignantly. 

“Indeed, sir,” said Jeeves.

“I do wish you would stop throwing away all my fruitiest clothes,” I grumbled.  He quirked an eyebrow.  He seemed to be waiting for something. “Is there anything else?”

“If it is any consolation, sir, from the beginning of our association, I have found you to have, as you say, an iron will.”

“Never mind that. I certainly feel much less guilty about your lack of pajamas.”  I said petulantly. Jeeves coughed in a rummy sort of way. 

“It is easier to dress quickly if something is needed at an odd hour,” he said.

“Ah,” I said.  “Right. Why don’t you seem to have any clothes, anyway?”

“They were delayed in shipping from Chuffnell Hall.”

“But that was days ago.”

“I thought I had set the matter to rights, but my clothes went astray and were finally discovered in Oxford.”

We sat for a few moments, holding hands and looking at the door, the floor, and the wall.  A certain almost forboding tremulousness overtook the willowy limbs. “Jeeves?” I asked after a while.

“Yes, sir?” he said, sounding a bit nervous.

“Can we become more intimate now?” The tone was more plaintive than I might have liked, and I tried to adjust it.  “I know you wanted some time to consider, and don’t mean to hurry you.” I rattled on.  “But we are both… rather…” I flailed a bit, indicating a critical portion of the Wooster pajamas.

“I fear that I am unworthy to be cared for by you.” 

“Pish tosh, Jeeves. Expunge such thoughts from your mind.”

He smiled hesitantly. “They are expunged.”

“Fully?”

“Indeed, sir.” The smile widened and he chuckled.  “Oh, I say!  You did chuckle the other day.  I thought I’d imagined it.” Laughter racked the Jeevesian frame, and some support was required from the willowy limbs until he could contain himself.  We ended up snarled in a heap on the bed, Wooster bottommost. 

“My disclosures did not alter your feelings?”  

“Don’t be daft, Jeeves, I mean Reggie,” I said, grinning back and struggling beneath him.  “I say, my sleeve is stuck under your knee….it’s pulling a bit… hard to breathe.” 

Jeeves shimmered to take Wooster in a fond embrace.  “Thank-you,” I said, wriggling contentedly against him.  “Although in future, I must ask that you avoid treating me like a jelly.  I do not enjoy being molded.”

A wicked sort of look entered his eyes.  “I am not certain that I can promise that, exactly.”

It took several minutes to work this out.  “Ah,” I said. Our eyes met and then the lips followed suit.

Several minutes passed. In my fantasies about Jeeves, we tore off each others’ clothes and had rough-and-tumble relations in all the rooms of the house. Twice. Or three times.  Yet the young master was hesitant to make a false move. 

“Shall I help you with the lemon-colored pajamas?” 

I wriggled away from his fingers, and he flinched back as though whacked with a mashee niblick. “I… sorry, please, rather, that is…” I tried to explain that he had undressed me before in a strictly professional capacity, and we were embarking on something rather new. “Maybe I could…”  I flapped a hand. 

Jeeves flushed pinkly and dropped his eyes fetchingly, which rather melted the heart. “Oh! I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” I said, meekly. I cupped the back of his brain-filled head in a hand, and pressed my face against his, gasping a bit to get up enough breath to speak.  “Of course, we can do whatever you like.  All that matters is that we can be together and, er, whatnot.” A broad smile emerged on his dial. 

He kissed me, which was delightful. Then he unfolded himself from the bed, pulling me with him until we were standing in the middle of the floor.  Then wordlessly, he dimmed the lamp and kissed me again and took my hand and put it on the button at the top of his undershirt. “Really? Are you certain?” He nodded and stroked my hair. I found the willowy limbs shaking.  After some fumbling, I managed to unbutton the Jeevesian undershirt.  I looked into his eyes as we slipped the fabric from his muscular frame and let it fall down to the floor, then I tentatively traced the topping muscles of his chest with trembling fingers. “Thank you, Reggie” I said, and we kissed again.

As I came up for air, I rested a hand on his shoulder and looked at him.  His body was bally magnificent.  “You look bally magnificent,” I said.  He blushed again, a deep ruddy color, and bent to rest his head on my shoulder. Slowly and carefully I unbuttoned his undershorts, pausing to kiss and nuzzle him between each button. He raised his head and we looked deep into each other’s eyes. I kissed him and rubbed the back of his neck as we slid the fabric down his muscular legs. He was gorgeous, but I didn’t let my gaze linger on his more sensitive regions, since he seemed so embarrassed.  “Let me slip out of these pajamas,” I murmured against his ear.  

I unbuttoned the l-c pajamas with relatively little trouble and managed to get one arm out of a sleeve before I toppled over, my pajama bottoms binding my knees together.  Jeeves caught me with one arm and levered us down onto the bed, deftly sliding the lemon silk from the Wooster corpus.  We kissed, pressing our naked skins together.  It was delish, but there was a sense of caution, as if we were almost afraid that we would break each other if we let our hands stray too far. 

Most of my prior experiences had mostly been playful, a bit of a romp. This was something else, again and it gave the Wooster pause. I pulled away a little and stroked Jeeves’s chest, running my quivering fingers over the interesting-looking scars, possibly a relic of the war which trembled under my touch.  He bent his head to watch me, a fond expression playing across his handsome features.

“Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?” he asked, his eyes following the movement of my fingertips across his chest and then straying down my bare body.  I nearly melted under the passion in his gaze.

“I’d like this to be… rather.  That is, you mean so bally much to me, and well, I… er, whatsit.  If you understand what I mean.”  I felt myself begin to grow a bit pink around the ears, and looked up at him helplessly.  He smiled warmly and slid his hand down my side. “Ah, Reggie,” I gasped as he let his fingers drift in a wider arc across my naked body.  He stopped moving and I opened my eyes.  We beamed at each other for a moment and then got back down to the business at hand.

 

**Jeeves**

Mr. Wooster accepted my communications much more easily than I had initially expected.  It was almost as though he already knew what I might have had to say.  Perhaps his knowledge of his family’s opinions and my desire to make his life, and mine, easier had prepared him for the possibility that his aunts and uncles would be willing to pay rather large sums of money to prune the more egregious elements from his wardrobe.  Or perhaps this stemmed from his uncanny ability to see through my professional mask and perceive me, a talent he had exercised from the first day we met.  I have never known another person who was able to read me so reflexively.  And there was always the possibility that he was better able to hide his emotions than even I thought.

I was touched at Mr. Wooster’s artless unselfishness in asking if I was interested in continuing with a more intimate liaison. His expressions of uncertainty were utterly charming, and I let a fond chuckle escape me as he attempted to explain himself. We wound up laughing in a delicious tangle of limbs atop my bed.  

With the sole exception of my officer, my previous sexual encounters had been transitory and generally straightforward to the point of being almost businesslike, and requiring the removal of very little clothing.  It was impossible to deal in such a perfunctory way with Mr. Wooster, and I could not believe that, after all of my intimate fantasies, we were actually in my room, disrobing each other. Since my officer died, I had not allowed anyone to see me nude, yet I could not deny Mr. Wooster’s natural request.

He expressed pleasure and surprise when I permitted him to remove my undergarments, and expressed his admiration of my form with delicacy and tact. We were both trembling nearly uncontrollably and Mr. Wooster had some small difficulty removing the lemon-colored pajamas, which afforded me the opportunity the scoop him into my arms and collapse onto the bed again.  As we rubbed our bare bodies together, I was nearly overcome with passion.

The universe shifted slightly in that moment and we explored each other’s bodies more intimately, rather tentatively at first, pausing frequently to kiss. Soon enough, we were overtaken by our desire, and it took only a few minutes before we were lying tangled together, spent and gasping for breath. Mr. Wooster was unable to keep his eyes open, so I settled us under the covers, curled up around him and closed my eyes as well.  


	5. A bad day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie is bally knackered after recent events. Jeeves becomes rattled and the butter hits the ceiling light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where on earth does Jeeves get paisley pajamas?

**Bertie**

I woke up early, shivering and alone in the bed. Jeeves had bunged some extra blankets over the w.f. before he slipped off to things valetly, so the s. caused some fretting.  I chattered my way into the l-c pajamas, which had been neatly folded up on the chair. My fingers quivered like jellies, too much to fasten the buttons, so I held the trousers up with one hand and hobbled out into the kitchen. Jeeves, clad in his undershorts, was doing Swedish exercises, which helped explain the topping musculature.  He glowed from the activity and looked good enough to eat.

“Good morning,” he said, holding his arms open. I ankled into his warm embrace. “You look tired, sir,” he said fondly, kissing me. He pulled back, looking concerned, and pressed his hand and then his lips to my forehead. He felt my hands and brushed the hair out of my face. “You feel cold.”

“It’s probably nothing,” I said in a small voice, teeth chattering. Jeeves sighed, buttoned my pajama bottoms, then folded me into a brief embrace, and guided me to the bathroom, where he turned the taps to fill the tub with hot water. 

“Can you get undressed?” The room swayed and Jeeves held the corpus steady while I slipped off the l-c p.s and eased down into the water. 

“I can’t be ill,” I said faintly. “We have to go to Paris.”

“It will take time to make the arrangements.”  Jeeves stroked the golden hair I made gruntled noises.

“Reggie?” I said after a few moments.

“Yes, Bertie?” 

“I do like it when you call me Bertie,” I said.  “I’m not sure how to… but I, well, now that we… in re: our relationship. I want us to be, well, more… What I mean to say is….even if we have to act the same in front of everyone else. Well, rather, I don’t want to be expecting you to…  erm now that we… whatsit.”

“Are you feeling any warmer?” he asked, and I had a sense he was trying to gain some time to think.

“Yes, much,” I said.  “Thank-you, Reggie.”  He brushed the hair out of my face again.

“When did you last sleep through the night?” he asked.  I didn’t remember. Maybe a day or two we’d had at the flat between trips to Chuffnell Regis.  What I did remember was sleeping out in a potting shed, getting drenched with water, fleeing from a madman, then sitting on a drafty park bench without a coat and getting overheated during a few rousing games of dinner roll cricket.  As a boy I had been delicate and prone to illnesses, especially at school, but since I’d been at Oxford I had been able to care for myself better.  It had been quite some time since I had been so completely done in.

“Jeev-, Reggie,” I started again. 

A horrible gurgling noise emerged from the Jeevesian frame. “Perhaps you should retire for a few more hours.  Would you like some tea?”

“Thank-you, yes, but…”  I began, but the gurgling interrupted me.  “Are you all right?”

“I apologize. I generally eat before now.  I will return in a few minutes.”

Jeeves shimmered out, leaving me with a tantalizing view of his lovely body.  I crawled out of the dizzy tub before the water engulfed the bean  too many times.  I was creeping between the covers when Jeeves arrived, carrying a tea tray and wearing an apron over his underthings.  I looked at him bleakly.

“Will you come in with me?” I asked, voice wobbling. He set down the tray, then he kissed me and oozed toward the bathroom.

He floated back, carrying another towel.  “In addition having the most wonderful fish-fed brain, Reggie, you look absolutely topping,” I said with enthusiasm. He blushed and grinned, oiling into the bed. 

He poured a beautiful cup of tea. “I was a bit too anxious to have a solid meal last evening,” he explained, handing me the tea cup, and applying the towel to the dripping locks. 

A wave of dizziness overtook me. The cup rattled alarmingly in the saucer, but Jeeves caught it before I spilled anything. “Thank you.” I asked as he took back the cup. 

I tipped over to lean on his shoulder. “Ah, Bertie” he said, wrapping an arm about me, then draining the cup.  He gave me some aspirins and held the water glass for me while I drank. Then he used the towel to dry my chest where the water had spilled.

“Did you eat?” I said, limply.

He chuckled.  “Servants often eat in a hurry.”  He hoisted the tray over onto the table and gathered me into his arms. The feel of our skins rubbing together was a great comfort, and I said so. 

“My head aches.”

“The aspirin will soon have some effect. Rest, love,” he said, rubbing my temples. I made an appreciative noise.

“Say that again, please,” I said.

“What, love?” he asked, perplexed. 

“Thank you,” I said and closed my eyes. 

**Jeeves**

I awoke somewhat earlier than usual, feeling very refreshed, and set about doing some Swedish exercises before Mr. Wooster’s customary hour of rising.  It was with a great deal of surprise that I saw him emerge from my room scarcely an hour after I rose.  I settled him in his own warm bed to get some much-needed rest.  Once he fell asleep, I slipped out to dress and settle the flat for the day. 

About an hour after Mr. Wooster customarily awoke, I entered his room with a cup of tea.  He was sleeping fitfully and bathed in sweat, his fair hair plastered against his skull.  I tried to rouse him, which proved ineffectual, and then phoned for a physician.  On ensuring that the doctor was en route to the flat, I dried Mr. Wooster off with toweling and dressed him in the heliotrope pajamas.  He roused to help me dress him, but he seemed very distressed. I held his hand and stroked his forehead until he drifted back to sleep.

**Bertie**

The rest of the day passed in rather a blurry way.  A doctor came in, and my then Aunt Maude appeared like a genie from a lamp, if said genie looked like a woman of comfortable years sitting by the bedside, knitting some very fruity purple socks. A nearly blinding pain pierced the lemon and streams of perspiration rolled off the brow like streams. “Aunt Maude?” I whispered, relieved to find that I was wearing my heliotrope pajamas, even if they were unpleasantly damp.  Aunts required a degree of fortification that was unavailable at the present juncture.  I tried to smile pleasantly and brace myself for an onslaught, hoping that Jeeves would materialize and save me.

“Bertie?  You had me a bit worried, duck,” she said in a low gentle voice. I boggled a bit. 

She dropped her knitting, leaned over to feel my forehead and called Jeeves.  Whimpering and curling up in a ball would have been the choice move if Aunt M had not been there, but one must maintain appearances. I thought I could hear the rumble of Uncle George’s voice in the sitting room.

I opened my eyes.  “So sorry not to receive you properly.”  Tears welled up in her  e.s.

“You poor love,” she said and I closed the e.s again.

Jeeves roused me later.  

“You have no visitors,” he said, propping me up with pillows. I felt unpleasantly damp and sweaty, rather like I did after sporting, but without the sense of fun or the grass stains.

“Can we, rather?” I said, plucking at the damp silk. 

“I will see to it directly."

He poured tea and pills and soup down the Wooster hatch and then levered me out of the bed and into the bathroom.  I shivered in the moist heliotrope silk. I was just trying to wash the hands when he trickled back in, armed with the coral pajamas.  I whispered, “...a bit dizzy….” The coral pajamas landed in the sink, and Jeeves caught hold of the young master something hard and unyielding cracked the skull.  Things blurred a bit again.  

I stirred to life between clean sheets in fresh pajamas. Jeeves, looking drawn, snoozed atop the chaise in a brown dressing gown, slippers and paisley pajamas.  An afghan lay in a rumpled heap beside him. The grey cells continued their breaststroke, but I felt much less as though I were coated in lead.  After girding up the loins, I started to lever myself up. Jeeves’s eyes snapped open and his stuffed frog emerged.  “Sir?” He sounded half out of his wits with worry, as indicated by a slight catch in the throat.  He administered water and pills and tea.

“Will you stay with me, please?” He divested himself of the r and s.s.  Then he slipped between the sheets. 

“Are you all right? You look knackered.”  He nodded.  “Can I put my head on your shoulder, please?” He nodded, then dimmed the light as I settled against him. “Please say something.”

“Thank god,” he whispered.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, rubbing his chest. 

He braced himself and said in a soupy voice, settling an arm around my shoulders. “You were unusually quiet. It was deeply unsettling. I blame myself for not covering you more warmly when I awoke this morning.”

“Ah… it’s not your fault at all. I was just so...all this sleeping in potting sheds, scooting about in wet togs, and out in the cold toppling off benches and other things. I finally relaxed after we…well, whatnot.” He gave an almost involuntary chuckle.  “That was bally topping, Reg. I was ill a lot as a boy, always after I relaxed after some onslaught, usually the first few days of holidays.” I plucked feebly at his shirt. “I thought you didn’t have pajamas?”

“My things arrived.”

“I would have been happy to get you new things,” I said. He made a dismissive noise.

“You seem much improved.”

“You took extremely good care of me,” I said a bit thickly.  I plucked at his pajama top again.  “Do… would it be all right if we took off…?”

He kissed my forehead, then shrugged off his top and, very gently, slid the p.s off the Wooster frame. I nestled my bare chest against his with a contented sigh as the pain in my head lessened and everything went blank.

 

**Jeeves**

My employer and lover lay passively as the doctor examined him, breathing shallowly, his eyes fluttering open from time to time. “He seems  simply exhausted.  Has he recently had a shock? Cottage burning down while he slept?  Yes, that certainly might explain it.  Give him plenty of fluids and aspirin and keep him away from his club and the drink for a few days.” 

He left, and the door bell rang soon thereafter. I was expecting groceries.  Therefore, I was somewhat surprised to find Lord and Lady Yaxley standing next to my trunk.

“Ah, Jeeves,” said Lord Yaxley.  “Is Bertie about?  I hoped to catch him before he went to his club.”

I gently disengaged Lady Yaxley from my arm before I answered. “I regret to say, Lord Yaxley, that Mr. Wooster is indisposed. The doctor has  advised that he not have visitors for some days.”

Lady Yaxley thrust a soft package into my arms and dashed toward the bedroom with a cry of “Poor duckling!”

Lord Yaxley chuckled.  “She has a heart of gold,” he said fondly after her retreating back.  I attempted to hide my chagrin as he settled himself into a chair with the newspaper. “Jeeves,will you attend to something for me in Paris.” I assured Lord Yaxley that I had agreed.  “Good, good.” He said, giving me an address and twenty pounds for expenses. “I cannot thank you enough, Jeeves.” 

“You are too generous as always, Lord Yaxley,” I said gravely.

He gave me a strange, searching look. I was somewhat relieved that Lady Yaxley emerged from Mr. Wooster’s room, or more properly, the powder room, at this juncture. She was in tears.

"The poor lamb, Piggy,” she said, dabbing her eyes with a hanky.  “Perhaps I should stay to nurse him.”

Lord Yaxley chuckled fondly. “Now Maudie, I am sure Bertie would prefer to have Jeeves. They are used to each other, after all.”  

With great relief, I escorted them to the door and phoned the doctor again, when Mr. Wooster fainted. 

“I strongly advise that you spend the night in his rooms in case he becomes feverish. If he does, put him into a tub of cold water, and give him more aspirin. If he becomes fretful, you can give him one or two tablets to help him sleep.”  I took the liberty of donning night clothes, but otherwise did as I was asked.

 

**Bertie**

After a night in the Jeevesian embrace, Wooster woke feeling tremulous, but clear-headed.  The sensation of opening the e.s while pressed against Jeeves’s warm, muscular chest occupied my thoughts for a mo, then I succumbed to the temptation to nestle in more closely beside him.  I was rewarded with a muffled grunt.  His arms tightened around me, and I closed the e.s. again.

When I woke a second time, the Wooster stomach was growling most unbecomingly, like a small den of wolves in a reasonably bad temper. I was eager indeed for a plate of the old eggs and b.  J., I assumed, was still ensconced in the arms of Morpheus, as he hadn’t moved.  I squirmed slightly.

“Sir?”  Jeeves sounded quite groggy.

“Are you all right?” I asked.  It was quite unlike him to sleep so long.

Jeeves sat up and stretched—a glorious sight—then rubbed the sleep from his eyes.  He exuded alertness and vigor. “It had been some days since I slept through the night comfortably, sir.  However, I feel extremely refreshed now.”

“Why are you ‘sirring’ me?”

“My apologies, love,” he said and folded me in his arms and kissed me soundly.  I made a sound like a mouse that has been trodden on, if the mouse is exquisitely happy about it. My stomach rumbled like a group of irritable rhinocerouses.  “I take it that you are experiencing some hunger?”

“Apologies, old fruit.  Bad form and all that.”

“I’ll see to breakfast,” Jeeves shimmered up and oozed out before I sat up properly. Still weakened, I slowly covered the slender chest with my pajama top, then toddled to the bathroom to attend to matters. Once that was done, I found my dressing gown and slippers and put them on. Knotting my dressing gown, I ankled out into to the front room. The place was spotless as always. I rested for a mo in one of the chairs. The kettle started to sing and I legged into the kitchen.

I heard the sound of the water turning off in Jeeves’s little nook. The stove held the kettle and a pot of porridge, simmering away.  A pan was waiting, and all the necessaries, I assumed, for the old eggs and b. were laid out, with a pile of bread.  Jeeves’s place was laid at the table, and my usual tea tray and breakfast tray were waiting beside it. The sight was both comforting and a bit sad. I longed for breakfast, but not alone in bed while Jeeves ate in the kitchen.

Jeeves oiled forth from the door at the far side of the room, exuding cleanliness, and looking simply delicious in his dressing gown, his hair tousled and still a bit damp.  He smiled when he saw me and I could feel myself beaming at him like a very bright object. Flipping some little contrivance on the kettle, he poured water into two tea pots, covered them, and then reduced the flame under the porridge and gave it a stir. Everything was perfect.  He shimmered over and folded me up in a warm embrace, smelling just delicious. We nestled together, kissing and made gruntled noises.

“What ho,” I said a bit feebly. He kissed me again, released me and waited. “I, er, Reggie, that is… in re: breakfast…” Finding the smell of soap and Jeeves and tea a bit distracting, I drew myself up a bit and stiffened the u. l. “I’d like, that is…” I babbled a bit more and then paused to gather my thoughts, gaping like a stunned fish of a wide-mouthed variety. 

He beamed fondly. “If I may?” 

“Of course. Just so.”

He took my hand and kissed the palm, making me feel so cherished that I nearly curled up and inserted myself into his pocket. “Perhaps you would join me in the kitchen this morning?”

“I say, that’s a good idea!” We beamed at each other. “How may I help?” The Jeevesian dial dimmed just barely perceptibly. I think we both knew that I’d make a terrible hash of things and create a jolly big mess for someone to clean up.

“Bertie, you have been so ill,” he began, obviously choosing his words with care. I must have looked a bit crestfallen, because he instantly regrouped.  “Perhaps you would be so kind as to sit at the table and butter the toast.” He steered me to the far side of the table and armed me with butter and a toast rack. He shimmered off and reappeared in his valet uniform, then bunged me the toast while he handled the rest of the repast.

Generally, my table manners are impeccable, so it was inexplicable how knife, butter and toast became so bally unruly, leaping about the place like march hares. The mangled heap of oddly-sized and shaped chunks of toast tasted well enough, but it lacked the usual Jeevesian polish. He quirked an eyebrow, but made no comment, even about the small blob of butter that found its way onto the ceiling lamp.

We ate heartily and caught up on events. I praised the food and ate far more than usual, making up no doubt for the short rations I’d been on for some days. Although I was feeling much improved, I decided to spend much of the day in the flat with a novel. “Will you need to go on many errands for our trip?” I asked, hoping Jeeves would say no. 

Jeeves considered for a moment.  “Normally, I would, but given the sensitive nature of our errand, perhaps it would be as well if we took as little with us as possible and purchased what we need in France during the more recreational part of the trip.  I believe that a day of quiet would be most welcome after the excitement of the past weeks.  In addition, the doctor recommended that you stay away from your club for a few days in order to regain your strength.”

“I say, that’s unsporting of him.”

“He indicated that you were suffering from exhaustion, love.”

“Ah.  Exhaustion?”

“Indeed.  And your club is not restful.”

“I must concede… is that the word I want?”

“Yes, love.” We beamed at each other a mo.

“Thank-you.  I concede his position.  A novel it is, but might I perhaps take a walk later?”

“Perhaps.”

“Now about Paris.” Visions of berets and other fruity clothing danced before my eyes.  “I can acquire clothing there?”

A barely perceptible frown flitted across his wide, brain-filled forehead.  “Yes, love.”

“And the standard of dress…”

“Please do not ask me if you can wear a beret with your evening dress, Bertie.”

“So what can I wear a beret with?”

“Nothing.”

“I say! There’s an idea. Perhaps I’ll get one for you as well, then.”  Jeeves flushed.

“Sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize. It is a novel idea, and I cannot immediately disapprove.”

“Honestly?”

“Indeed, love, what is worn in the privacy of a flat is quite different from what is acceptable in a grand house or in public.”

I asked about our flat in Paris. “You and Lord Yaxley indicated that this is a highly delicate situation. It therefore appeared preferable to inhabit a quarter that was less proximitous to your many friends and acquaintances. We can, of course, obtain quarters in a more fashionable, and less private, part of town.”

Something sloshed around the old bean. “Jeeves,” I said, surprised. “You’re talking like… Jeeves again.” He was still a bit pink from my suggestion about the berets. I stood up and ankled over to his side of the table.  He gathered me into his lap like a lost lamb.  “I suppose we do need to strategize a plan and whatnot?”

“I believe so,” he said.  “Would you like to relax with a Rex Stout novel while I straighten the kitchen and arrange my thoughts?”

“Can I help?”

He regarded me a bit sadly, like patience on a thingummy.  “Bertie,” he said, using a voice dripping with the milk of human whatsit. “Our household has been in such disorder, and yesterday was very difficult for me. I was extremely worried about you. It would comfort me to see to this, knowing that you were relaxing after your illness.”

Jeeves did seem to take the state of the flat somewhat personally. And it was kind of him not to mention the butter on the lamp. Likely, he thought I hadn’t noticed it. I trickled into the front room, picked up my book and settled on the chesterfield, where I promptly began to doze. The sensation of being covered warmly with an afghan or two and kissed on the forehead dimly intruded a few minutes later.

 

**Jeeves**

Much to my relief, Mr. Wooster’s health improved dramatically overnight. Although he was still visibly worn, he was once again completely himself.  I was cheered by his appetite at breakfast.

My chief concerns were arrangements for our trip to Paris—I remained quite uneasy after Lord Yaxley’s strange behavior of the day before—and some discussion of our new relationship.  Especially concerning was my need to maintain some sense of self and my work without hurting Mr. Wooster’s feelings. He means well, but I rather fancy that his talents for what Miss Jane Austen called “the light and lively” may be put to better uses than making tea and toast. Although I must admit that the expression on his face when a small knob of butter flew up and adhered to the ceiling lamp tugged at my heart strings in a way that was well worth the effort of cleaning up after him.

Mr. Wooster dosed off on the chesterfield soon after breakfast. I covered him warmly and made a phone call to the Junior Ganymede club, then carried the bundles of dirty sheets out to be laundered. Mr. Jarvis was concerned.  He had not spoken to me of his feelings in front of Mr. Wooster, but he had been visibly taken aback by his appearance when we returned.

“Rather a lot of sheets,” he commented.  “Is Mr. Wooster quite well? You had the doctor in twice, I saw.  Mr. Wooster is such a pleasant, kind gentleman.”

On first day I had met Mr. Wooster, Mr. Jarvis had been much in his favor. “That Mr. Wooster.  He is rather wild and heedless, but a very pleasant and kind gentlemen always, Mr. Jeeves, and very generous.  Even when he’s drunk it’s ‘Thank-you, Jarvis’ and ‘good to see you, Jarvis.’ You’ll do well to be his gentleman’s gentleman.”

I inclined my head kindly.  “Mr. Wooster is indeed improved, thank-you for inquiring, but remains unwell and would prefer not to be disturbed.  However, my uncle may call, and if you would be so kind as to show him up, I can let him in at the kitchen door so as not to disturb Mr. Wooster’s rest.”

Mr. Jarvis smiled. My Uncle Charlie always had a kind word for the doorman. “It is very good to have you back, Mr. Jeeves.  Mr. Wooster seemed a little lost without you and we are all quite fond of him.  Always a kind word for everyone.”  

We made arrangements for the laundry and some additional groceries. “Mr. Wooster asked me not to leave him alone while he is unwell, so I cannot attend to these matters myself,” I said, tipping him for the added trouble.

Mr. Jarvis looked much moved. “We are all very happy that you have returned, Mr. Jeeves.”


	6. An embarrassment of uncles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jeeves manages two rather bothersome uncles and lets Bertie wear a soft-bosomed evening shirt. Jeeves and Bertie have their first dinner date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has Jeeves been hoarding Bertie's old clothes?

**Bertie**

The sound of Jeeves’s voice roused me through the slightly open kitchen door.  He used the soupy tone generally reserved for wrangling over purple socks or white mess jackets with brass buttons.  It gave me quite a turn.

“Mr. Wooster’s uncle,” I heard the other voice say in the soupiest tone I had ever heard, as I snarled my feet in the afghan and tumbled from the chesterfield onto the floor in a tangled heap of fabric. One of my slippers bounced into the grate like an India rubber ball. An instant later, Jeeves was kneeling at my side, holding me down with one hand as I struggled to sit up.

“Please, sir,” he said in a boullion-like tone. “Lie still so that I may ascertain if you have sustained any injuries.” One-handed, he deftly untangled the afghan from about the Wooster pins. Another fellow, built along the Jeevesian line shimmered up and quirked an eyebrow at us. I had a feeling that this fellow would make Aubrey Upjohn of Malvern House sit up and take notice, which is going quite a far way along the lines of sternness. I have observed in the past that certain coves make Wooster feel bally uneasy, and this uncle was capable of making even a cove like that start jangling the keys and fidgeting nervously.

I struggled to get up, managing to entangle the lower limbs in the other afghan and lose my remaining slipper. A cough like that of a small lamb tactfully clearing the pipes on a distant hillside caused Jeeves to look up. A tiny tinge of pink on one ear indicated that he was rather nonplussed to have his gentleman seen like this.  I stiffened the u. l. and attempted to look calm and intelligent.

“Mr. Wooster, this is my uncle, Charles Foster.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Foster,” I said as jauntily as I could from my position on the floor.  “Sorry to not receive you properly. Any uncle of Jeeves. Welcome and all that.”

“I am very honored to make your acquaintance,” intoned Uncle Jeeves in a voice that made the Wooster insides quiver.  Jeeves, meanwhile, had managed to disentangle me from the afghan again and had levered me back up to the chesterfield, squeezing my arm unnecessarily.  My slippers materialized and I slid them on the feet.

Meanwhile, Uncle Jeeves had taken in the limp flower arrangement and quirked the eyebrow Jeeves-ward.  I quailed. Jeeves quirked an eyebrow in return then shimmered out of the room, returning with a brightly-colored nosegay in reds and purples.  Jeeves normally kept the sitting room looking rather somber, and this was a welcome change.

“I say, Jeeves, how cheerful!” I exclaimed.

“I hoped they would be acceptable, sir.”

“Yes, indeed, Jeeves.  Most highly acceptable. Thank-you.”

“Do you require anything else, sir?”

“No, no thank-you, Jeeves.”

“If it meets with your approval, Mr. Wooster, I will finish speaking with my uncle in the kitchen.”

“Oh, right,” I said.  “Carry on, Jeeves.  What?”

They took the limp arrangement with them. I pretended to read my novel, but really lay back dozing.  A few minutes later, Jeeves and his uncle issued back out of the kitchen. Uncle J. gravely bid me adieu, and shimmered out.  As Jeeves locked the door, and turned to me, his face turned ashen.

I was at his side in a moment, knocking over a small table and losing a slipper under the chesterfield. “Reggie,” I said, very softly lest someone hear us through the door.  He gripped my arm like an anxious octopus, and we staggered to the chesterfield.  “Good god, what is the matter?”

Jeeves gathered me into his lap and rested the brain-filled bean against my manly breast.  I stroked his hair until the color came back to his face. I could not imagine what had upset him so much, but he soon explained.  The nub was this: his Uncle Charlie had been involved with the scheme to extract Brooks from Colney Hatch and he had, in somewhat gruesome detail, which Jeeves refused to repeat, described exactly what had been done to his friend.

“Uncle George gave me a box. It’s in the jacket I wore to the park.”  Jeeves shimmered out from under me and retrieved it.

“You did not look at it, I assume?”

“I suppose I should take whatever is addressed to me, but I’d never look at the rest. Code of the Woosters and all that.”

“Would you object strongly if I did?”

“Not at all, old fruit. You seem to feel it’s important, and you know I trust your judgment.”

“I fear it may be vital to our safety.” I agreed and he took the box into the kitchen. When he returned, he appeared puzzled.  “Would you…”

“No, Reggie. I considered our position, and I feel that before we embark on the mystery of Uncle George, there are some very important matters to be sorted in re: our more intimate relationship. Specifically, I would like to have a bath and then make sweet, gentle love to you for an hour or two or possibly three.”

As I was speaking, the Jeevesian pupils dilated and lips parted like the Red Sea but nicer. 

“You ravish my heart.” We snuggled and kissed. He tasted like whiskey. Odd, as he rarely touched the stuff. His uncle’s story must have shaken him deeply. “May I suggest something, love?”

“Suggest away.”

“I propose a small emendation to your excellent plan. I believe that you should rest for some hours, while I settle my thoughts.  We could then devote the evening to a shared meal followed by an exchange of affections, and defer additional discussion until afterward.”

“The evening? Do you feel the need to commune for a time with an improving book?”  

“I believe that the period of anticipation will heighten our mutual enjoyment.  Also, although you are much improved, Bertie, you still appear quite exhausted.”

“Ah.”  Normally I would have argued, eager to show that I was iron-willed and not to be henpecked.  I did not have the heart when Jeeves was cupping my face in one hand and looking so dashed worried.  “Do I?”

He stroked my cheek and tenderly brushed the areas under my eyes.  “I am finding this worrisome.  You were so extremely ill yesterday, immediately after our last intimate encounter, and I would feel reassured if you took some more rest.  Also, I would welcome a chance to set things to rights, cook a pleasant dinner, and prepare for an evening together.”

Much as I wanted to initiate my plan immediately, there was no reason to deny him. “Very well. What would you have me do?”

He led me into my bedroom, drew the drapes, and turned back the covers. I crawled in, and settled my head on the pillow he had used the night before.  “It smells like you.”  He smiled fondly for a moment and then ruffled the forehead, as if he had just registered something else we would need to remember. He tucked the covers in around me, and kissed me, then shimmered off.  I was asleep before he had closed the door again.

 

**Jeeves**

What a frightful day. 

My Uncle Charlie, who has been my mentor and protector most of my life, agreed to call on me to consult about my proposed trip to France. He arrived with a new bunch of flowers for an arrangement, as I had requested, and a number of scolding remarks, which I could have dispensed with.

“Rather bright, this, young Reg. Not fitting or proper for a public room.”

“Mr. Wooster enjoys bright colors.”

“It’s our duty to mold our gentlemen, Reg.”

“He has been terribly ill and no callers are expected. It cannot harm him to have one brightly-colored flower arrangement while he convalesces.”

“You are far too soft, Reg. I hear how you coddle him. Why you didn’t just burn up those initial hankies the first day is beyond me. And he was seen wearing pink socks and magenta paisley in public just the other day. You have been getting very fond of him. It won’t do. He’ll marry, and then where will you be left?” 

“I will manage, Uncle Charlie.”

“You will wilt, Reggie. I see how much you are getting used to him. Be cautious.”

“Attachments are not always in our power to direct, uncle.”

“That was a low remark.” I let my mouth drop open. I had been referring to myself. 

My uncle had gone grey. “How could you have known of that old business?” I sat down, then stood up and fetched a glass of whisky.  Mr. Wooster was sleeping peacefully on the chesterfield, and he would not have minded even if he were awake. 

“What are you referring to, Uncle Charlie?”

“My attachment…to Mr. Brooks, valet to Mr. Wooster's uncle.” A terrible fear gripped my heart. “It was just this time of year, Reggie, a year like this, a little more chill than usual.  I was there, you see, when they got him back from that place. They were afraid he would refuse to go with a stranger.  It was horrible, especially after what we had been to each other.”

I pretended to be deeply shocked. "Surely not!"

"It's well enough for you, women tossing themselves at you." My uncle then related some of the most horrific events that I have ever had the bad luck to hear. I fetched the decanter of whiskey from the front room. The revolting and gruesome nature of the sufferings Brooks had endured was even more shocking in that they were carried out in cold blood. Mr. Brooks had been subjected, albeit briefly, to a manner of torture that chilled me to the bone and had, only narrowly, escaped being emasculated. Roderick Glossop intervened, primarily, my uncle felt, from his sense that such conduct was categorically wrong. I gained a new respect for Sir Roderick in that moment.

“But I do not understand, Uncle, if you and Brooks were… had an understanding… then what happened?”

“Mr. Wooster’s uncle.”

The sound of Mr. Wooster collapsing on the rug with an undignified yelp, his legs no doubt snarled in an afghan, caused me to dart from my seat to reassure myself that he had not cracked his skull open on the hearth.  Thankfully, he stopped struggling when I placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.  He instantly strove to appear to advantage in front of my uncle. I remained quite worried, however as he was still so tired that he looked as though someone had blackened both his eyes. 

Uncle Charlie was amused at Mr. Wooster’s reaction to the bright reds and purples.  I have found that Mr. Wooster’s happy personality and eager appreciation of small attentions does make him rather a favorite among the serving classes. Even my uncle was not immune to his charm.

Back in the kitchen, Uncle Charlie cautioned me. “You do seem to have him well trained, Reg.  I can see why you might indulge him, but please be careful.” 

“Uncle, why do you bring up this matter of Mr. Brooks? It seems quite unusual for you to dwell on such things.”

“It comes back to me every year about this time. Lord Yaxley sends me a token on the anniversary. He never said anything, but I suspect he understood more than he let on.”

“Mr. Wooster and I are going to Paris for some weeks on a commission of a sensitive nature for Lord Yaxley.”

“Be careful Reg. Your master seems a bit delicate.” 

“I will endeavor not to coddle him unnecessarily, then.” My uncle slapped me on the back of the head and stood to take his leave. I managed to maintain my composure until he left the flat.  He would be reassured by my comportment, and it would not do to worry him.  I also needed some time to consider whether to inform him of the nature of my errand.

Never was I so grateful for Mr. Wooster’s generally easy temper as in that moment.  Heedless of his own fatigue, he immediately attempted to see to me. He willingly shared more information from his conversation with Lord Yaxley. I feared that there was more that had seemed unimportant or that he had forgotten to tell me, but I could not fault this as he similarly neglected to mention the whiskey on my breath.

Mr. Wooster allowed me to look into the box given to him by Lord Yaxley. I found a sealed letter addressed to Brooks and an account book for a Swiss bank, opened in trust for Bertram W. Wooster against his maturity.  It was well-supplied with cash, more than enough to free a young man from the necessity of “earning his bread trough honest toil” as Mr. Wooster might say.

Another note was addressed to me.

**_Dear Jeeves_ **

**_I trust this missive finds you well.  Your help is needed on a matter of some urgency. I_ **

**_will be waiting for you at my club at 5  pm Tuesday. Please come alone._ **

_**Yaxley**_  

There was an enclosure, addressed to Mr. Wooster and a long chain on which hung a key and a wedding band.  The inscription read: _From your loving W.W._

 

****

**Bertie**

I woke in the late afternoon, wanting a cup of tea.  I donned my dressing gown and opened the tap for the hot water and went in search of Jeeves.  As I went through the rooms, something felt wrong, dashed wrong.  Everything was neat as a pin, and there was no sound of Jeeves or smell of cooking.  I went into the kitchen.  The box Uncle George had given me was there and on top of it was a small, pale blue envelope, addressed to “Mr. Wooster.” Jeeves must have decided that this was all too dangerous and fled. A sob shook my frame as I collapsed into the chair and opened it. 

**_Sir,_ **

**_Please do not be alarmed at my absence._ **

**_I apologize for the necessity of leaving you while you are ill;_ **

**_however, Lord Yaxley requested that I attend him at his club at 5pm on a matter of some urgency._ **

**_I have taken the liberty of arranging for a cab in order to be absent as little time as possible._ **

**_If I do not return within the hour, you may phone my uncle at the Junior Ganymede Club,_ **

**_and he will be happy to attend to your needs until I am able to return._ ** ****

**_Jeeves_ **

 

I gathered myself together, then looked at the clock. It lacked thirty minutes to the hour.  I managed to calm myself, and took the little box back with me.  I decided to have a brandy instead of tea and returned to my bedroom.  Hopefully, all would be well, but something was gripping at the heart in a most unwelcome manner. 

The plan had been to have a pleasant dinner followed by an evening of mutual affections. I decided to prepare for that eventu-thingummy.  Jeeves seemed to want some courting, and I pondered much over what he might find as a kindness from me, since it was too late to find him some sort of present.  I smoothed the sheets and bedspread as best I could. It was nothing on what Jeeves could do, but it was the gesture that counted, I hoped. Then I folded up the pajamas and popped them under the pillows.  The bath was filling, so I turned off the taps and cleansed myself while listening for Jeeves. He never made much noise, so the effort was futile. I toweled off, drained the tub and wiped it with the towel and then put on my robe and set off to find the place where Jeeves stored or dried or whatever he did with wet towels.

Padding through the front room, the smell of food tickled the nostrils. My eyes filled, and I pushed open the kitchen door.

Jeeves looked utterly delicious in his dressing gown, hair dripping into his eyes. He glanced up from the dish he was biffing into the oven and smiled.  The tears spilled down my cheeks. He closed the oven door and hugged me, then wiped the tears away with his thumbs and kissed me. I clutched at him.

“Are you unwell?”

“I was frightened when I saw your note.”

“I am sorry. Your uncle left a letter in the box he gave you, asking me to come to his club today.”

“He… what?” He took the damp towels from me, then he took my hand and led me into his room, grabbing a dry towel from the back of a chair.  We settled on his bed, my back against the wall, his back against my chest.  I dried his hair while he talked, the world settling into a type of rightness around us.

“Your uncle was worried. He wanted to see if I would check the information he gave you before we left, and he asked me to his club to convey the key to a safe deposit box in Paris. I believe you already know the substance of anything else he would have imparted.”

“Uncle George was worried about me?”

"Or he was testing us to see if we would speak to each other about this.

“He was testing me, Bertie.”     

“Ah.”  I toweled some more and decided that this information would keep. “This is nice.” 

“This?”

“Helping you dry off.”

“It is very pleasant.”

“What are we having for dinner?”

“Are you hungry?”

“Not at all.”

Jeeves chuckled. “I will lay out our evening clothes, and then you will discover.” I wrapped my arms around him and planted a kiss at the back of his neck, then followed him to the bedroom. He saw the bed. “That was very considerate of you,” he said, kissing me.  He sent me into the bathroom while he bunged out some evening clothes, then came in to help me shave. 

“Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“My hands may begin to shake if I look into them, and I do not want to nick you with the razor.”

“Ah. Sorry.  Should I…”

“Oh, no, it is my pleasure.”

I had never shut my eyes before while Jeeves shaved me.  I could feel the tenderness in his touch.  When he finished and shimmered out, no doubt to set the dinner to rights and get dressed himself, I toddled forth, folding my towel neatly and hanging it on a hook, then hanging it up again when it fell, then leaving it in a heap on the floor when it fell again.  I divested self from the robe, hung it up in the wardrobe and turned to the evening clothes. The dull, grey socks were slid onto the slender feet, the undergarments disposed of and then the Wooster peepers alighted on a soft-bosomed evening shirt in pale pink. Jeeves had been pretty pipped about these shirts.

Picking up the possibly trouble-making garment, I ankled out into the front room in my underclothes. 

“Jeeves!” I called as I passed near the outside door, my eyes fixed on the s-b shirt. I did like it, especially the soft pink color. I wondered why Jeeves was always so firm about my not wearing pink as I thought it looked rather well on me.

“Sir?”

I looked up and started, sending the s-b shirt flying.  Jeeves was resplendent in evening dress, his hair devoid of its usual brillantine.  I’d never seen him looking so beautiful.  He seemed almost to glow. 

An inarticulate gargle issued from the Wooster pipes as I gaped, codfishlike in his general direction.  Jeeves stepped forward and smoothly caught the shirt in mid-air, folding it quickly before it wrinkled.  He was slightly pinker in tinge than usual, and I caught his eye as it strayed to the straining portion of the Wooster undershorts. I drew myself up and met his eye.

“Are you in need of any assistance, sir?”

“Erm, no. Actually.  I was merely confused…”

“Confused, sir?”

“Dash it, Jeeves.”  I reached out and brushed his free hand with my fingers. “You look just… breathtaking,” I murmured.  He flushed somewhat more pinkly.

“Thank-you.”

I took the shirt, turned on my heel and staggered into the bedroom. The fingers stroked the smooth fabric for a mo, and then I checked the label. It was one of the very shirts I had purchased before I wrote that bally article for _Milady’s Boudoir._  Donning shirt, trousers, tie, vest and jacket, I steadied myself, took one last look in the mirror and ankled out into the front room.

**Jeeves**

I had often found the importunities of Mr. Wooster’s relations to be vexatious, but never so much as on that afternoon. It is always awkward to call on gentlemen at their clubs in a professional capacity because the opportunities for impropriety are plentiful and difficult to correctly evade without giving offense. In addition, I was terribly worried about Mr. Wooster. What would he think if he awoke and found the flat empty?

The trial of my nerves was worse than I imagined. Lord Yaxley tried to insist that I sit and join him for a drink, which was horribly inappropriate and he presented much more than the usual difficulties in refusal.

“You are most generous to think of it, Lord Yaxley.”

“Are you quite sure, Jeeves?”

“Thank-you, Lord Yaxley, but I must refuse your kind offer.  Mr. Wooster will be quite distressed if he awakens and finds himself alone in the house.”  I caught sight of Sir Roderick Glossop, speaking with Mr. Cheeswright’s uncle, the magistrate.

“You have a point, Jeeves. You won’t have a seat?”

“I thank you, Lord Yaxley, but it would be most improper for your nephew’s valet.”  The Earl of Sidcup entered the room and inclined his head.

Lord Yaxley looked at me appraisingly.  “Yes, it would, I suppose. I wanted to entrust this commission to you." He proffered a small key. "It’s the key to a safe deposit box in Paris.  Here’s the paperwork. I want Bertie to have this, but it would be better if you fetched them so he can open them privately.”

“I will attend to it personally, Lord Yaxley.”

Lord Yaxley nodded and took a sip of his whiskey and soda.  “Thank-you, Jeeves,” he said, handing me a folded ten-pound note.

“Your lordship is very generous to think of it, but it is unnecessary.”

“No, no, Jeeves. I insist you take it. I am asking you to do something outside your normal duties, and this will hopefully defray any extra expenses.”

I looked at Lord Yaxley for a long moment, then accepted the money, hoping I had not done wrong in refusing.  Any servant would have accepted this as a matter of course, but I was beginning to feel suspicious of Lord Yaxley and his motives. He finished his drink, then rose and asked me to see him to the door.

“Brooks sat down,” he said, as I helped him on with his coat. Lord Yaxley had belonged to a number of less dignified clubs at that time. The situation was quite different, and I shuddered inwardly.

“For a man of my age and station, it would be absolutely unpardonable to appear in any way over familiar with your lordship, particularly in a club such as this.”  I was rewarded with an approving nod.  I felt rather annoyed.

Lord Yaxley left, and as I was fastening my own coat, Sir Roderick Glossop addressed me.  “Jeeves? Is that you?”

“It is a great pleasure to see you, Sir Roderick. I trust Lady Glossop is also well? And Miss Honoria and Master Oswald?”

“Yes, yes, thank-you very much for asking. It is most considerate of you. Is everything well with Mr. Wooster, Jeeves?”

“He has been taken ill, I am afraid, Sir Roderick.”

My cab arrived and Sir Roderick asked to share it as he was running a bit late for an appointment and our paths were similar.  I  offered to let him take it and wait for another.

“I could not possibly delay you. Young Wooster is ill, you say, and our paths are common that far.  Give him my regards, Jeeves. Has he seen a doctor?”

“Twice, Sir Roderick.”

He then looked as if he had remembered something and handed me five pounds. I was taken aback.

“I owe you a debt for assisting me with that whole Chuffnell Regis business and I did not like to offer you anything in front of your master or Mr. Stoker. Please forgive my reticence at the time.”

“I thank you for thinking of it, but it is quite unnecessary, Sir Roderick. It was my pleasure to be of assistance to you. I am certain that Mr. Wooster would regard any of my actions as being within his expectations.”

Sir Roderick was clearly pleased by my reticence.  However, he had his own code of behavior to support. “Yes, he is a much better quality young man than I thought. But I must insist, Jeeves. This is not the first time you have done me a service. You very properly retrieved my hat for me when my dear Honoria was engaged, most imprudently, to young Wooster and saw Lady Glossop from the hotel to the courtroom, I understand.”

“She did wish it, Sir Roderick, and seemed uncomfortable in proceeding unaccompanied.” 

“The trial amused her very much. And you, I believe, insisted on paying for her conveyance.”

I relented. “Thank-you, Sir Roderick. You are very kind to think of it.”

He looked at me with the same appraising look that the physician had had the day before. “Jeeves, I want to caution you about something.” My heart sank in my breast.  “Your loyalty to Mr. Wooster is commendable. However, you have great potential.  Do not let the attractions of London blind you to the advantages of the country.  I am sure Mr. Wooster remunerates you most generously, but you must think of your future career and the possibilities for a happy retirement.  If you are ever in need of employment, you may consider me your friend in such matters.”

I was genuinely moved. “Thank-you, Sir Roderick.  I am grateful for this generous advice. For now, I am happy.  Mr. Wooster is an easy employer in many ways and I have an opportunity to travel.” The cab pulled up at the corner near the flat.

As I was alighting, Sir Roderick spoke. “You speak sensibly, Jeeves. Thank-you again for your help in Chuffnell Regis."

When I returned to the flat, the note I left for Mr. Wooster was gone. I heard the sound of water running. I pondered the cutlets and savory that I had begun to prepare and realized that I had no appetite for either. 

Mr. Wooster likely would have been upset by my absence and uneasy.  I guessed that he would not eat very much, and I was beginning to feel slightly queasy myself. I pulled the consomme and potatoes from the refrigerator, removed the fine layer of congealed fat from the soup and set it on the stove to heat gently.  I ran into the shower and rinsed myself quickly but thoroughly while the oven heated.  The potatoes would just need time to heat through and brown nicely. I unwrapped a loaf of crusty bread. 

Mr. Wooster entered the kitchen in his toweling robe, just as I was setting the potatoes into the hot oven.  A single tear rolled down each of his cheeks as he caught sight of me. He must have thought that I had grown frightened of having a liaison with him and fled.  In that moment, I could have slapped Lord Yaxley senseless quite cheerfully.  Thankfully, Mr. Wooster was readily reassured. We discussed my errand, and he dried my hair as we talked, a gesture of intimacy that I greatly enjoyed. 

A most pleasant surprise awaited me on entering the bedroom.  Mr. Wooster had made the bed.  Admittedly, the job was clumsy, but he had clearly meant to please me. I helped him shave, and left him one of his soft-bosomed shirts.  I had never been able to admit that he had looked incredibly attractive when thus attired.  In fact, my more sensual dreams about Mr. Wooster generally featured him in a pink soft-bosomed shirt and nothing more.  I laid one out, but hesitated at the pink silk socks.  It would not do to become overly inflamed before I had even dressed.  I double-checked that every door in the house was locked, closed the kitchen shutters, and drew the drapes in the living room and dining room, as it was somewhat past the usual time.

****

**Bertie**

Jeeves was waiting, looking more resplendent than ever.  I’d never seen him looking so handsome. He smiled and adjusted my tie, then lifted his chin a bit, the way I often did when allowing Jeeves to inspect me.  I wondered idly if I had been inviting his touch all these years. 

“Really?”

“Please.” 

“You look just spiffing, really.  But I’d like to kiss you a bit, old thing.”

“That would be most agreeable.”

“Was it?”

“Bertie?”

“Agreeable?  The bit of kissing?”

“Rather more than agreeable, I would say.”

“Topping.” 

“Would you care for a cocktail before dinner?”

“I would, thank-you. Jeeves?”

“Sir?”

“Thank-you for saving my soft-bosomed shirts.”  He blushed.

We were drinking the cocktail turnabout from the same glass, and he slipped his fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck.  I set the glass down on a table, took his free hand in one of mine and lifted my mouth to his. We kissed, slowly and passionately, hands clasped, our bodies not touching. The sensation of his lips and tongue on mine was just smashing.

“Are you hungry?”

“Not at all.”

“You slept through luncheon and you took almost nothing yesterday.”

“I know, but some fluttery things are occupying the bits where I would usually put my dinner.”

“Will you try to eat something?”

“Yes, of course, since you’ve gone to the trouble to cook, old thing. It’s just that, I, er, well whatsit…”

“I understand completely.”

Jeeves had made us consomme and potatoes Dauphinoise.  He had also heated up some sort of crusty bread, perfect for settling an unsettled digestion. Perhaps he was feeling a bit fluttery himself. We drank the soup, ate some bread and picked at the potatoes, then drifted over to the piano, our fingers twined together. 

“Why don’t you pick something to play and I’ll bring the dishes into the kitchen.”

“Bertie?”

“I will be back in two shakes.”

“Thank-you.”

“I’m sorry about the soup bowl.”

“Did you hurt yourself?”

“No.  I left the bits in the dust pan.  I wasn’t sure where you would put them” 

“Then it is of no consequence. Thank-you for clearing up.”

“Not a nuisance to you?”

“Not at all.”

“Why, have you been replacing broken dishes?”

“Quite a number of them.”

“Ah.  Mozart?”

“I thought perhaps something from our time New York.”

“Very well, followed by something classical, perhaps?  And Reg?”

“Yes?”

“I will be deeply hurt if you pay for any more crockery from your own funds. It’s no use looking at me like that.  I’ve been letting it go because I thought you were selling all those clothes of mine to make up the shortfalls.”

“It’s a bit more… complicated than that.  Might we take this topic up on the train to Paris?”

“Have you another topic that appeals for the nonce?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“And what would that be?”

“I’d like to play for you, and then you can play for me.” 

“No duets?”

“I fear we would be unable to control our affectionate impulses if we attempted to share the piano bench.”

‘That was rather the idea, I thought.”

“May I?”

“Of course.”

He played. I sang.

“That was a stirring rendition of ‘Minnie the Moocher,’ Reg.”

“I fancy so.”

“You sang with gusto on the chorus.”

“I do apologize.”

“No need. I rather enjoyed it.”

“You are too kind.”

“Not at all.”

“Would you like another? ‘Nagasaki’ perhaps?”

“You don’t care for that one.  Let me play for you?”

“Very well.”

It had been some time since I attempted anything classical and the inner bits were quite jumpy, even with the combined forces of dry bread, potatoes, and a brandy and soda to keep them in line.  I chose Chopin, whose works I had been bludgeoned with most unmercifully as a boy.  Diving in, I played as best I could, stumbling in one place.  It gave me quite a turn.  It would have bally well earned me a nasty crack on the back of the head. I was pleasantly surprised when Jeeves leaned over to turn the page for me. His hand brushed my shoulder, and I shoved over a bit to make room for him on the bench.  He slipped an arm about the slender waist and bunged the pages over as needful. 

When I finished, I turned and found his mouth on mine.   

“Reg? Are you all right?”

“I am quite well.”

“Your face is a bit damp.”

“I am deeply moved. Thank-you, Bertram, that was marvelous.”

“Would you care for another?"

“No, thank-you. That was quite perfect.”

“Then, would you care to retire and exchange affections?”

“Yes, very much.”

**Jeeves**

Mr. Wooster’s expression of admiration at my appearance in evening dress was most gratifying.  He managed his evident feelings of arousal in a delicate and gentlemanly fashion, which warmed my heart. In addition, his appreciation of the soft-bosomed shirt was much greater than I could have hoped for, and certainly much more than I deserved, especially given the my selfish motivations for keeping them. I wonder how he will react when I reveal that I have saved his pink tie as well. 

I found myself increasingly flattered and moved by Mr. Wooster’s openness to affection and small gestures of intimacy, such as sharing cocktails from the same glass or hooking our pinkie fingers together. It had not occurred to me previously how very much such small things could signify. I was slowly coming to understand why my feelings for Captain Woolf had been so highly contradictory. I highly admired him but was unable to fully trust him. Despite the limitations of Mr. Wooster’s abilities, my trust in his goodness of heart is absolute.  

Nevertheless, I learned a great deal about Mr. Wooster. He appeared quite determined to contribute more to the housekeeping, and, although I do fear for the state of our budget if he continues to break things, his efforts are enormously endearing. Surprisingly, he had been keeping a more careful eye on the household accounts than I had realized, which was pleasing, if a bit unsettling. 

Mr. Wooster performed Chopin for me this evening, an act of true generosity.  It was beautiful.  I know he does not care for such music, and the way he flinched when he made a minor error indicated that he had indeed been beaten while learning. I have often marveled at the way he shrugs off abuses like gnats. I find myself growing increasingly curious about his parents, for I cannot determine any other place where he would have learned to behave in such a gentle and affectionate manner.


	7. A perfect fusion of whatnot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New territories are explored. Strawberries are eaten. Bertie proves to be a playful and inventive lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor mites have a bit of backstory to struggle through, but love conquors all.

**Bertie**

Jeeves trickled up from the bench in a smooth, fluid motion, then waited while I clambered up, picked up the sheet music I had knocked down, and set it back on the piano. It fluttered to the ground like autumn leaves, but by that time he had taken my hand and shimmered me to the bedroom. He shimmered over to the wardrobe where he had hidden a bottle of champagne, strawberries and grapes.  My insides fluttered like the sheet m as he popped the cork and poured a bubbly glass. “No, no, you first, Reg.”

“Thank-you. Do you mind sharing?”

“Not at all. These are new drapes?”

“Only the linings.” He floated over to lock the bedroom door.  “May I help you with your jacket?”  We paused and looked at each other, and the wardrobe. I slipped off the jacket myself.

“I , er, in re:” I started.  Jeeves handed me the champagne glass again.  I took a sip, and then helped him off with his jacket, touching his arms much more than strictly necessary.  We kissed, and I loosened his tie and then we kissed some more and, gradually and with much affectionate kissing, we divested each other of our splendid outer raiment, shoes and socks.  My hands shook as I eased the studs from his shirt.  I paused and kissed him after I removed each one, then waited while he popped one out of my s-b shirt.  We carefully and deliberately settled everything into my wardrobe, and I felt a sense of companionship to see the rather larger Jeevesian dinner jacket beside my own and the Jeevesian studs mingling with mine.

By the time we were standing next to the bed in only our underthings, my lips felt twice as large as usual.  We stood, looking into each other’s eyes, and breathing heavily for a long while. I traced Jeeves’s lips with a finger. He nipped me lightly and grinned.  I grinned back.

“Reg?”

“Yes, love?”

“I’m feeling a wobbly in the region of the knees.”

We yanked down the bedspread and oozed onto the sheets, pressing together like sardines in a can, if the sardines in question were wearing clean, new underwear purchased at a better quality men’s store. Buttons were undone slowly, with tender stroking and kissing of the skin uncovered, and after a seeming eternity of loving affection, we were lying in our bare skins, stroking each other’s backs and each gazing deeply into a loving pair of blue eyes, contemp-something the ticklish areas we had just discovered. I let my eyes wander down the Jeevesian terrain, and Jeeves flushed pinkly, looking down at the mattress in a most fetchingly vulnerable way. I cupped the side of his face and he lifted his e.s to meet mine again.

“You take my breath away,” I said, running a thumb over one of his eyebrows and pressing our foreheads together. 

He solemnly ran a hand over my bare chest, catching a taut nipple with his thumb.  A gasp issued from the Wooster lips, and he inched forward until our phalluses were rubbing against each other in a highly chummy fashion. I had never felt anything like this. The sensation as his soft, smooth skin ran over me was nearly overwhelming. I gasped again and closed my eyes as I struggled to contain myself, responding eagerly as his lips and tongue found mine. He tasted of champagne and I felt my body suffuse, if that's the word I want, with a feeling of pure pleasure.

 

**Jeeves**

Our lovemaking was quite extraordinarily satisfactory.  Mr. Wooster’s conduct was sweet and gentlemanly throughout our activities and although he, quite clearly, enjoyed himself greatly, his primary concern was my comfort and satisfaction.  We began cautiously, as neither of us was a particularly experienced or knowledgeable lover. In fact, with the possible exception of a brief liaison with Mr. Rocky Todd in New York, I was quite confident that Mr. Wooster had not taken a lover since I had been in his employ, despite several obvious opportunities. 

I myself had avoided any real involvements. Although my degree of technical knowledge and proficiency might have been somewhat greater than Mr. Wooster’s, the idea of employing the skills imparted by my officer in a first encounter with someone for whom I had such tender feelings was highly distasteful.

We undressed each other slowly and deliberately. Although I had seen Mr. Wooster without his clothing on a number of occasions, I was surprised at the things I learned about his supple and enticing body.  He bears quite a number of scars from his misadventures. As I helped him remove his undershorts, I noted a particularly unpleasant-looking mark on his deliciously firm, rounded bottom.

He seemed quite delighted throughout our kissing and petting, and the very innocent pleasure he took in our activities heightened my enjoyment considerably. I was unaware that I was so ticklish. As we grew more serious and came together, rubbing against each other intimately, I felt as if I would fly into pieces from the sheer intensity of feeling.

****

**Bertie**

We wriggled against each other for a few more minutes, and I felt Jeeves shift and twist. Opening my eyes, I saw him taking a jar of petroleum ointment from a drawer by the bed. I never used the stuff. The chest was gripped roughly as if by an iron band, and I froze in a sudden panic, like a cornered hare. The heart practically leapt from the breast, like a caged animal that could not wait to burst out from a dashed nasty prison. Jeeves glanced back at me, dropped the jar as if it had stung him and folded my head against his chest. I shook as if I had the ague. “Bertie? What’s wrong, love?”

“I’m sorry, Reg,” I said in a small voice, clutching at him as if I had been thrown roughly from a yacht and he was my only hope of survival.  “I, er… it’s, ah.  I’m sorry. That is to say, I’m not certain that I can…you see…” He rubbed my back, stroked my hair, and pressed his lips to the top of my head until I stopped babbling. I wasn’t sure how to explain without being indelicate, but the Wooster experience with the more, well, invasive whatnot had been quite dashed, horrid unpleasant and much as I wanted to oblige, I was terrified. “I’m sorry.”

I could almost feel the wheels clicking in his dashed marvelous brain as he ran over the various scars he had registered on the Wooster corpus as we disrobed. I felt him stiffen when he realized what had frightened me. “No, I apologize for my lack of explanation. Bertie, love, I assure you, I will not ask you to do anything you find unpleasant or distasteful.” He put a hand on the side of my face and I lifted my head to meet his eyes.  He looked deeply concerned. “I felt somewhat… chafed, and I assumed that had you not been so ill, you would have registered a similar level of discomfort.”

“Ah. Yes. Chafed? I see. I did, actually, also. Feel chafed, that is. Somewhat.”

“I thought this might enhance our pleasure in each other were we to renew those activities. I was not assuming anything else. I am very sorry to have made you feel anxious.”

“Oh.  Right. I’m sorry, Reg. I didn’t understand, and I did say that we could do whatever you like.  And it would be natural for you to want, you see, because… and I don’t like to say no, of course, after I gave my word, and I do really…” My throat began to close, and to my profound horror, I began to weep, not just a welling up in the e.s, but real crying.  This had not happened in front of another person since before my mother had died. I struggled to contain myself.

“Ah, darling love, please do not be distressed,” the emotion in his voice completely unmanned me and I began to sob in good earnest. Jeeves pulled my head down on his shoulder, bunged a leg around me for good measure, and murmured soft words of tender comfort until I had reassembled myself from the various watery fragments strewn about the place. I had thought I understood what it was to feel embarrassed in front of Jeeves after all the scrapes he had pulled me out of, but I could have digested myself with mortification at the way I had ruined our beautiful… er, whatnot. 

**Jeeves**

It seems that neither of our past histories have been entirely pleasant. I proffered a small jar of petroleum ointment in the course of our amorous activities to relieve the chafing I had felt after our previous encounter. Mr. Wooster has a more delicate skin and I assumed that he would have felt more discomfort than I had.

I was perplexed at his distress. However, as he brokenly attempted to explain himself, it became clear that he assumed that I intended to penetrate him. I suddenly understood what had caused the scar I had noted earlier in the evening. It was quite painful to see him experiencing such discomfort of soul, and I felt quite angry at the thought of anyone using him in such a way. When he began to weep in my arms, I thought that my own heart would break. 

I was at a complete loss as to how to calm him. Thankfully, he spoke at intervals until I finally understood. He was caught between his inability to comfortably proceed with what he thought I desired and his equal inability to deny me anything. In addition, he was experiencing very great shame at losing his composure. Of course, I would never ask him to do anything distasteful and his compassion to me rendered any apology of the sort unnecessary.

My feelings of guilt for some of my past actions were considerable—had I not manipulated him in the past, he may not have experienced such painful emotions.  Of course, had Mr. Wooster not gotten us into these scrapes, I would not have had to resort to such measures.  It was imponderable. 

****

**Bertie**

Jeeves was marvelously sweet and patient. “Please do not be distressed. I assure you that we never have to do anything of this sort that you do not like.” He continued in this vein while I tried to settle my nerves and apologized. “Especially after your generous and affectionate kindness to me, there is no need for such concern, love. Truly.” He helped me wipe my face with a damp towel and I rested against him, panting like an animal released from a trap.

“I… Reg…” Settling the feelings back down in the old noodle, it appeared that part of my distress, and maybe a very large part, was a very strong, yearning is perhaps the word I want, for well, a perfect fusion of, well, soul as well, but corpus, rather.  I bally wanted it as I had never wanted anything before. “I, actually, er, you see, I do want, very much, and I, rather would like to do whatever, things and whatnot, you would want. If you see what I mean…it would be a more companionable, er, fusion of well, soul and, ah, whatnot.” A fond and very relieved smile burst forth on the Jeevesian visage, and Wooster soon found himself purring in a most contented fashion under the tender treatment that was showered upon him.

A pause in the loving stroking occurred and Wooster nestled against the font of this wondrous affection, nuzzling the region of the Jeevesian underarm with a nose. Jeeves chuckled as this was one of his ticklish areas and something about the mischievous look of the Wooster countenance appeared to amuse him. “Bertie, could you perhaps explain what you meant just now? I do not quite have the pleasure of understanding you, love.”

A deep blush suffused the Wooster cheeks. “Well, I, rather, would like to know, I believe, whatever you might want, at all… if you see? It could be, well… for want of a better word, bonding and constructive. If done with affection and kindness? Between friends and lovers, as it were. To please each other?”

“No one could ever please me as much as you already do, love.”  I closed the e.s. and tried to pull self into a single quivering jelly.

“Thank-you, Reg.  I feel similarly. I would, actually, like to, with you, and… er. No, that is not correct.  I most heartily do wish to make as much fusion as possible with you, but I am a bit, well trepidatious?  Is that the word I want? Please, I do hope you understand, because I don’t have proper words for…ah, well, whatnot.”

He smiled warmly and tousled my hair as he thought through a few things, which took a bit longer than usual because of the nuzzling that was occurring on various parts of his corpus.  A large and gentle hand then cupped the back of the Wooster head. I pulled back a bit to meet the Jeevesian e.s. and went melty at the look beaming from his handsome dial. “I believe I do understand your difficulty. Are you willing to trust me to try and remedy this problem?” I nodded, fearful that I would start crying again if I tried to speak. 

He shifted his weight, pressing his hips against me, and I felt myself immediately growing hard against him. I bally ached with desire.

“I want you so much it hurts, Reg.”  I gasped.

“I know, love.  Would you like to proceed?”

“Yes, please.”

 

**Jeeves**

Once again, Mr. Wooster surprised me. As he calmed, he explained his desire to achieve a perfect fusion with me, one of body and soul.  The heart melted within me at this declaration, and the more so when he expressed a willingness to trust me to find a way to achieve this union.  I do not ever think I can show him enough fond affection. Never will I understand how I came to have the great good fortune to become attached to such a kind, caring and generous man.  

 

****

**Bertie**

Moving slowly and carefully, Jeeves reached for the jar of ointment again. “Would you be so kind as to hold this for me, love? I’d like to use this when I touch you.” He pinkened slightly and I flushed a deep red.  We are British, after all, and find it deeply uncomfortable to speak about some things.

“Oh. Ah. Yes.” 

He took a bit of ointment and let it grow warm before he smoothed it over my erect phallus with an expression of seriousness, as if affairs of state occupied his oversized brain. A sort of low keen issued from my lips as he stroked me.  His hand was large and firm and he handled me gently and with great feeling.  My back arched and the eyes rolled back in my head under these ministrations.  Somehow I gathered control enough to speak.  “Ah, Reg.  Can you…I rather… could we, together?”

Pausing for a moment to let me get hold of myself, he held out the jar.  I followed his example and anointed his more prominent and hefty straining member, taking in the full magnitude of his endowment for the first time. He blushed again as I looked at him with something approaching awe, and then he closed his eyes and arched the back, splaying the legs and giving himself over to the pleasure of my touch.  His expression of enjoyment was completely unguarded, and Wooster understood how vulnerable he was in this situation. I could hardly believe that this beautiful, intelligent man would share himself with me in such a way. He pulled himself back from the brink and moved to take hold of me again.

We stroked each other and kissed, moving against each other at first slowly and tenderly, and then more urgently.  I closed my eyes and let out a quiet groan, then he said, “Bertie.”  I opened my eyes and we gazed at each other as he climaxed, gripping me almost convulsively in a slick hand. Nearly overcome with passion, I came off a moment later, murmuring his name.

**Jeeves**

I still blush when I think of this encounter. I had intended to satisfy Mr. Wooster and then hold him until he fell asleep, but he had other ideas, and requested that we experience these pleasures together.  Mr. Wooster’s attentions overcame all of my inhibitions and I exposed myself most wantonly in response to the feeling of his hands on my most sensitive regions. Then we climaxed in unison, gazing into each other’s eyes.  I could not have imagined ever experiencing anything so erotic.

****

**Bertie**

We lay together, panting and shaking.  The towel materialized and we wiped ourselves off, then recommenced cuddling and kissing. It took remarkably little time before we were once again aroused and breathing heavily.

“Love?”

“Yes, Reg?”

“Would you permit me?”

“Please.”

The ointment reappeared, and Jeeves began what would be a months-long process of slowly and carefully investigating the more sensitive portions of the Wooster frame. He moved gently, keeping his face close to mine as his splendid fingers travelled over the Wooster terrain. My back arched and the e.s. fluttered open and shut as he stroked and kneaded, the mouth forming a soundless “o” of pleasure. He called me his darling love and countless treasure and told me all of the many ways that he found my form pleasing.

We interspersed these proceedings at regular intervals with a reciprocal investigation of the Jeevesian corpus, which was accompanied by much blushing. The Wooster expedition was somewhat more tentative in its explorations, requiring two hands to fully cover the terrain, as it were. Jeeves kindly offered all the support and encouragement that were compatible with his loss of breath. We satisfied each other, then ankled into the bath to wash up before retiring for the night. 

Jeeves blushed again as I helped him wipe off. “Does it… should I stop looking at you?” I asked, deeply concerned. He flushed a bit pinker. “I feel as if I am violating your privacy.”

I led him back to the bed then ensconced him in the willowy limbs while he gathered his thoughts. “I have not let anyone see me without my clothing since I was a very young man, Bertie.” He flushed more deeply, and I petted him, applying the Wooster lips and tongue to his corking throat and bally adorable earlobes. “I do… I enjoy, in fact deeply enjoy, the way you look at me, but I am so unused to being noticed at all, let alone exposed in such a way. Does my reaction disturb you?” 

“It is bally endearing.”

“Then not offensive to you?"

“Quite the contrary, but are you uncomfortable?”

“Your kind tenderness is more than compensation for any slight discomfort.”

**Jeeves**

I was highly impressed by Mr. Wooster’s considerable amorous stamina.  We undertook a more thorough investigation of our intimate preferences and sensitivities. While in daily life Mr. Wooster is very talkative, almost to the point of babbling, during our lovemaking he grows quiet.  His expression of bliss while I stimulated his manly apparatus will remain a treasured memory for the rest of my life.

****

**Bertie**

We settled together in a tangle of naked limbs and fed each other grapes and strawberries and drank slightly warm champagne.  Some playfulness ensued which resulted in the need for Wooster to lick a number of strawberry-flavored red marks off the Jeevesian chest and other areas.  He retaliated by pretending to offer me grapes and then eating them himself. We scuffled playfully, giggling together quietly so as not to be overheard.  The bed was silent. Jeeves had oiled the bedsprings and moved the headboard away from the wall.  We snuggled together again, kissing.  Jeeves pulled away and stroked my hair thoughtfully, looking rather like a prophet-type chappie gazing into the distant hills.

“Are you all right old top?”

“Bertie, may I ask you about your reaction earlier?”

“Ah… yes.”

“You do not have to speak of it if you do not wish, love.”

“No, it’s all right.  I…er, perhaps it would be…”

“Come into my arms if you like, love.”

“May I… er, you see?”

Jeeves gathered me into his arms and curled a leg around me. He kneaded the back of my neck as I spoke.  “It’s just school stuff, really, Jeeves. A bit…rummy, I suppose.”

“Indeed?”

It took a moment or two to stiffen the upper lip. “Ah, well, this upper former was a bit of a brute, you know. He was angry with me for protecting Gussie. He and I had been, well you know... My fag master, Woolf, was a rather nice chap…” Jeeves went rather still. “He was generally kind, but we…. he called me in and locked the door.  Told me to get undressed.  It didn’t hurt and I rather, er, well, liked it.  But he slipped to the other chap that I was…eager.” My throat closed.

“Good god.  You haven’t spoken of this since?”

I took a deep breath. “To whom could I possibly? This other fellow had tried to, erm, ah, …bung D’Arcy Cheesewright, who is a robust specimen and, even at that tender age, well able to hold his own against mightier foes.” I curled up into a ball, and Jeeves patiently caressed me. 

“I am sorry, Bertie, please stop if you are distressed. There is no need to upset you like this.”

Something, possibly the knowledge that I was with the only person I could ever trust with this information, kept me talking. “No, no, it’s… Do you mind if I finish?” 

Jeeves stroked my hair.  “Will it ease you?”  I shrugged uncomfortably. He pressed his lips to the Wooster forehead. “Of course, love.”

“Er, he caught me alone one day. I still have no idea what happened, exactly… so much blood. Luckily Woolf was brainy. Nothing like you, of course, but he called. His uncle brought us to a doctor and he burned everything closed—bally painful. Woolf stayed with me, held my hand and wiped the fevered brow. I didn’t ask, he insisted. Uncle Woolf kept us in London until the holidays. The aunts never learned of it. The uncle brought us to lunch at the Drones a few times.” 

Jeeves had kept up gentle kneading throughout this tale.

“I am terribly sorry, Bertie.”

“Thank-you.”

“Did you ever renew your… liaison with this Woolf?”

“He didn’t come back after the holidays. He decided to enlist.  He was dead before I went up to Oxford.”

“And you haven’t attempted such activities again?”

I shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, er, well, you saw how it was, and that was, well, you. You do know how well I trust you? I had a bit of a fling… you know, just, well, erm, … with … someone at Oxford, but only …nothing too adventurous. I couldn’t have even thought about… well… whatsit... and there has not been anyone else since then.”

Jeeves rolled this over in the onion for a bit.  “I thank you for trusting me, love.  Yet I remain confused about your loss of composure.  Usually your feelings seem quite clear to me, and tonight I am at something of a loss.  You seem able to speak of the most…untoward things without breaking down and yet….”

I rested the lemon on his broad shoulder. “Ah.  You see, I gave you my word, Reg, and I…” The e.s filled, and I paused, choking back a sudden sob. Jeeves waited until I had calmed down slightly before speaking.  

“Bertie, love, I could never take any pleasure in such a thing if you feel in any way uncomfortable. It would deeply hurt me to know I had allowed you to experience such feelings in these matters.  Do you understand, love?” I nodded, the e.s filling again. No one had ever spoken to me like this before. 

“Will you please promise to tell me if you experience any type of discomfort in our relations? Even if you suggested them and even if I appear to be enjoying them at the time?”

“I er…”

“I implore you, Bertie, at least to try.”

“Of course I’ll do my best, old fruit. It’s just, I seem to not be able to speak when we’re…er, whatnot.” 

“Ah. I had not considered that. Perhaps we can arrange a signal of some sort?”

I laughed. “I hope I remember it, Reg.  You know how bally useless I am with such things.  Reg, are you all right?  You seem to be acting rather like a plank of wood.”

“May I crave a boon, love?”

“Crave away.”

“If it would not upset you, might we renew our affections again?”

“I believe that can be arranged.” 

We petted and kissed each other for some minutes.  “Reg?” I gasped.

“Love?”

“I have a bold thought.”

“Yes?”

“I’d like to kiss  and… er, and whatnot, you, er, well,” I said, giving him a squeeze in the area indicated.  It took a few moments for him to work out what I was not saying, and when he did, he flushed.

“I believe that can be arranged, love.” 

**Jeeves**

I am enthralled.  Mr. Wooster’s playful affection and the heady sensation of his lips and tongue over my neck and chest were most welcome, although to this day I remain unconvinced that he believed my nipples to be stubborn strawberry juice stains, despite his look of seeming innocence. Surely, I will never again eat strawberries without experiencing a feeling of arousal.

Mr. Wooster kindly explained his reaction earlier in the evening, relating some truly awful violence he had suffered while at boarding school. Mr. Hildebrand Glossop’s uncertain temper would easily be explained by even the type of minor incidents that Mr. Wooster related, let alone his more grueling experiences.  I was rather shocked when I realized that Mr. Wooster may have had a previous connection with my captain, who must have been the Uncle Woolf that Mr. Wooster met as a boy. 

My officer had once taken the opportunity to explain his own past experiences and what he knew of connections between boys at school. His nephew had been deeply troubled by the incident, but Captain Woolf had dwelled somewhat longer on his admiration of the young friend, his lack of tearfulness, and his repeated apologies for bleeding on the blanket that had been used to wrap him in during the trip to a doctor. In hindsight, it sounded very much like Mr. Wooster.  

Mr. Wooster was far more upset at the thought of breaking his word and disappointing me in the course of our amorous activities than he was in speaking of his own unpleasant past. Finally, I convinced him that I could never take pleasure in any lovemaking activities unless he was enjoying them as well.  However, I would have felt better had he been able to protect himself somewhat more. 

I also came to understand the almost strange intimacy between Mr. Fink-Nottle and Mr. Wooster.  Although Mr. Wooster has a great many friends, only Mr. Fink-Nottle has seemed to feel free to invade his bed and wardrobe at will.  Apparently this is the residue of some old attachment when they were very young.  My knowledge of Mr Fink-Nottle has led me to understand that he is, indeed, a sensitive and affectionate young man, and I feel most deeply thankful that at least one of Mr. Wooster’s former liaisons was with a caring and gentle person. 

As our evening drew to a close Mr. Wooster showed himself to be a most thorough and inventive lover.  At his suggestion, we explored a highly novel use of the lips and mouth on what Mr. Wooster refers to as “our private bits.” He is quite darling at times in a way that seems almost incompatible with the smoldering moment earlier in the evening when I climaxed while gazing deeply into his eyes, which was perhaps the single most erotic moment of my life.  His curiosity about how I tasted and whether his tongue and lips would feel “more smashing or more topping” on my phallus proved most highly satisfactory for both of us.  We curled up together after we had considered these questions, completed sated. 


	8. Off to France

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dashed cheeky Sir Roderick tries to hire Jeeves. Bertie and Jeeves hie forth to France. Jeeves meets an old friend for coffee. Paisley may be lurking beneath the covers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bertie is still feeling under the weather, but there is friskiness.

**Bertie**

****Two days later, Jeeves and I embarked for France, prepared for flight across sundry deserts and resettlement in a promised land.  At least, funds and supplies overflowed bounteously. The Wooster spirit remained ungirt about the region of the loins and unfit for such a fray, but such things had to be born.

The day began on a sound and positive note for one minute and quickly unravelled thereafter. I was ensconced among the pillows when a gentle touch between the brows roused me. The e.s. opened to find Jeeves smoothing the area between the b.s. with a thumb dressed in his valet uniform. I smiled as the e.s fluttered shut and the thumb started its work again.

“Wake up, love.”

A grunting noise responded groggily. We spent much of the previous day curled up naked, perfecting a few lovemaking arts, and the defenses remained low. Unthinkingly, I oozed up and tucked myself under the Jeevesian chin, curling against his chest and shoulder with a muffled sigh. His frame quivered, and he smoothed my bare back with a warm, firm, reassuring hand.  I wished we had another day or two before we had to leave.

“What time is it?”

“Not yet 10 o’clock.”

“Then why am I awake? Oh! Are you needful of some affection?” I suddenly felt more boomps-a-daisy.

The Jeevesian chuckle sounded in the Wooster ears.  “You most generously lavished me with your affections, love. I am sorry to disturb you, but Sir Roderick Glossop phoned and is en route to the flat now. I need to get you into your pajamas and a dressing gown.”

“The dashed cheek, Reg.”

"Indeed, love."

Sir Roderick Glossop made his cheeky morning call, ostensi-whatsit to ascertain the state of the Wooster nerves. He deemed them unacceptably frayed, in his expert opinion as a loony doctor, for biffing off to the excesses of Paris.  I refrained from remarking on his unmitigated gall because the onion was otherwise occupied by some reeling in horror. My dashed nuisance of a doctor had written to him about a patient with an interesting case of exhaustion and Sir Roderick, being a brainy cove, had figured out that said patient was Wooster, and scooted over, brimful with concern.

“The description of Jeeves was unmistakable. Dr. Rogers appears quite interested in obtaining his services. But this is beside the point.  Mr. Wooster, you appear fatigued and I fear the effects of Paris night clubs.” 

It seemed inappropriate to indicate much of the peakedness in question was due to having stayed up all night exploring the more tender portions of the Jeevesian anatomy with the Wooster tongue. Bally delicious. I gave a hollow laugh. “Ah, but there will be no night clubs. My uncle called for me to attend to business. When an uncle calls for succor and aid, aid and succor he will have, Sir Roderick. A Wooster does not quail or shrink from unpleasant duties in the face of mere fatigue.”

Sir Roderick seemed to struggle, then he glanced at Jeeves, who came to refresh my perfectly adequate cup of tea. “I see.  It is family business. If you keep Jeeves close at hand, there should be no problem. Yes. I would strongly suggest that you undertake the extra expense and occupy a suite of rooms and keept Jeeves there with you. Jeeves, do you object to this plan?” 

Jeeves displayed his stuffed amphibian to good advantage.  “If, Sir Roderick, you feel that such a measure is necessary, I will endeavor to overlook any discomfort.”

“I say,” I said. “What about my discomfort? Or my privacy?  Am I to have no peace? Am I to be mercilessly chivvied, or worse yet, relentlessly coddled like some fretful infant?”

“Of course not, sir.”

“Thank-you, Jeeves,” said Sir Roderick, ignoring my questions. “Mr. Wooster, I insist that you agree to this precaution at least for the next few days. I feel responsible for your weakened condition, and it would be an act of friendship if you did.”  He was dashed clever.  I pouted while he wrote us explanatory letters in English and in French, but there was no way I could object to easing the Glossop bean. Still, Wooster does not like to be dictated to. “I have some instructions for you to prevent another situation such as Dr. Rogers described.  Shall I give them to Jeeves or yourself?”

“To me, of course,” I said, quivering in indignation and knocking a teaspoon to the floor.

I tried to listen.  Jeeves oozed over to retrieve the fallen spoon and, thankfully, lurked behind Sir Roderick and took furtive notes.  Sir Roderick asked to speak with Jeeves for further instructions and I picked up my novel.  When Sir Roderick had left, Jeeves came and commenced to smooth the ruffled Wooster plumage.

“I apologize.  I attempted to defer his visit by saying you were indisposed and he seemed to feel it a duty to attend you.  Next time I will think of some other excuse.”

“Rummy.  Telling me to keep you in my room.” Another horror gripped me. “Is he hinting at something?”

Jeeves snorted, yes, snorted. I nearly dropped to the floor, but I had grasped the Jeevesian arm when gripped by h. and maintained my precarious balance. “I doubt that Sir Roderick would mince his words with you. He never has before. He is very grateful that we helped conceal his recent imprisonment, which could have ruined his career. You were quite unlike yourself, Bertie, and...” His voice wavered, but he held himself together.

“Reg?” He didn’t answer, and I curled up under his chin.  “Thank-you again for tending to me while I was ill.”  In all, unsuccessful as an opening to the day, in the humble Wooster opinion.

The day continued hectic, and I was smote on the back of the head by Morpheus before the train puffed out of the station. Jeeves propped me up with our coats. He had righted the entire flat, managed any number of monetary transactions, and my wardrobe to his satisfaction, and, apparently, read at least one improving book from cover to cover, but he woke me up shortly before we landed, looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. The pride of the Woosters was taxed.

“I arranged a hotel for the night, sir,” he said, using his valetly voice, since we were in public.

His tone sheltered a sort of thingness. He lapped up travel. The Viking blood will tell out. “If you settle me in the hotel, you could look about a bit while I take a nap, Jeeves,” I said.  “I would like to stay in to eat, and it would be nice to bestow Aunt Maude with some nice gewgaw.  Perhaps you can use the time to some advantage, what?”

“Of course,” said Jeeves, supervising the porters in surprisingly good French.  “If I may, sir?” He took my arm and steered me toward the cab.

At the hotel, Jeeves deposited me in a chair while he dealt with the staff. “Did you take a suite with two bedrooms like Sir Roderick told us?  I want you near in case I am taken ill.”

“Yes, sir,” said Jeeves. “It will be arranged exactly as you wish.”  The hotel manager assured me that we had a fine suite and that there was a servant’s room.  Jeeves got me settled in bed, then sailed out to see the sights and get a gewgaw or ten for Aunt Maude. 

 

**Jeeves**

Although Mr. Wooster’s health had improved, I fear he was not well enough to travel. He strongly prefers peaceful ease and trips are always an irritant. It would have been preferable to have had a few more days to recuperate and snuggle. I had found our afternoon and evening of naked revels the day before to have been most exhilarating.  We had remained in a state of arousal for hours together, a deliciously novel experience.

Sir Roderick Glossop seems disposed to be a good friend to Mr. Wooster, which hopefully will not act to remove any objections to my lover becoming the spouse of Honoria Glossop. In fairness, she is a good-hearted, good-natured young woman, and I believe genuinely fond of Mr. Wooster, as one might be fond of a spaniel.  He, to my mind deserved a more perfect fusion of soul, even before I developed such feelings for him.

When the eminent physician explained that Mr. Wooster should be taking at least 8 to 10 hours of sleep per day and avoiding tea and other stimulants, I nodded solemnly and made some notes in my jotter.  I feared that he would renew our conversation about my employment situation, and in fact he did.  This type of conversation had become a very tiresome necessity since I began to work for Mr. Wooster.  Unlike gentlemen who had offered me huge sums for my “companionship,” however, I believed that Sir Roderick actually appreciated my talents and honestly desired to forward what he felt were my career interests. 

“I advise you to find another physician for Mr. Wooster, Jeeves.  Rogers is generally a good man, but when he gets a false idea in his head, it is best to have shut with him.”

“I am afraid that I do not ascertain your meaning, Sir Roderick. Has he slighted Mr. Wooster in some way?”

“He wrote to me that he wanted to hire you because he was impressed with the hygiene of your sick room.  However, as you will recall I have undertaken to start a hospital in Chuffnell Regis.  You will always have employment with me should you wish it, and under preferable terms to those offered by Rogers.”

“You are very good to think of it, Sir Roderick. I do thank you again for your kind consideration of my humble talents.”

I found Sir Roderick’s visit to be almost amusing until Mr. Wooster questioned his motivations for asking us to share accommodations.  Although I could detect no insinuations in Sir Roderick’s tone, Mr. Wooster has an uncanny knack for bonding with people and I can never discount the value of his feelings.  This would require some careful monitoring.

The day was consumed by errands.  Our lovemaking had been quite exquisitely satisfying, yet the break in the intensity of our companionship was also enjoyable. I found comfort in attending to banking matters, packing, and setting the flat completely to rights before leaving, knowing that I would be returning to Mr. Wooster.  These activities also gave me some much-needed time to think about our situation and to consider the purpose of our trip.  I felt uneasy, as though I had missed some type of vital information.

Mr. Wooster spent most of his time dozing over a novel, although he did take a walk.  He returned with a beautiful pair of cufflinks in sterling silver and onyx, leading me to suspect he had left the flat specifically to buy me this present.  He is a very dear man.

Once in public together, we fell quite naturally into our roles as master and man, but something had shifted profoundly between us, and I feared that everyone would see how we felt about each other.  In fact, I have come to believe that it was quite the opposite and that by relieving the terrible tension between us, we appeared more like master and man than ever before.  Any sense of extraordinary fondness in Mr. Wooster’s behavior could easily be attributed to his weakened condition and our long association. In addition, the brief parting of the ways would naturally mark some shift in our working relations. 

The trip itself was inconvenient as such trips often are. Settling Mr. Wooster into the hotel, I would be able to walk about Calais, consult a friend who lived there, purchase some items for Lady Yaxley, and consider our next moves.  I had booked us places on a night train to Paris, and had paid the first week’s rent at two different flats. I had enough clothing for Mr. Wooster and myself for a few days in one suitcase, and had filled two smaller bags. I would have one case sent to each flat. My plan was to check Mr. Wooster into a hotel before seeking out Mr. Brooks and then retrieving the items from the safe deposit box.  We could then have some time together before getting embroiled into any more schemes and plans concocted by Mr. Wooster’s family and friends.

****

**Bertie**

I woke to find Jeeves opening my overnight bag.

“Is anyone here?”

“No.”  Jeeves came to the bedside and stroked the hair from my face.  “How do you feel?”

“Much improved, but in re: unpacking, would you… I mean, rather, since we…?”

Jeeves looked soupy.  “It’s getting late.  Perhaps we should discuss this after we’ve eaten.” He toured the rooms, drawing the drapes closer together and locking the door again.

I confess that when Jeeves suggested that we think through our situation, I did not do enough thinking.  “Why is there only one place set at the table? Why are there two tables?”

“Usually I eat by myself before serving you or after you have finished,” he said patiently.

“But not now?” I asked plaintively. We had taken most of our meals together for the past two days. “No one will disturb us, you said.”

“I have asked that we not be disturbed until morning.”

“You ordered the same dinner for both of us?”

“Sometimes, it is not ‘the done thing’ as you would say.”

“Do you think we’re not safe?” He seemed to wilt a bit.

“I am sure we will not be disturbed and it would be an easy matter to move the chairs.”

“So, then…can we eat together and chat? Please tell me what the difficulty is.” 

He started to uncover the plates.  He had ordered me an elegant, light meal and himself enough food to power a trencherman.  I thought about the sight of him stowing away half a loaf on the first morning he spent in my bed.  He must have skipped his tea to keep an eye on me while I was sleeping.  I would have to be more careful.

“I am a bit out of sorts, and…” he paused and seemed to roll something over in his fish-fed brain. “My feelings for you have interfered with my appetite.”

“Of course you should eat whatever you like, but it would do me good to share our meal and some conversation.” 

It was quite pleasant to listen to Jeeves describe his outing. He had enjoyed the opportunity to sightsee and purchased one or two highly fruity gewgaws for Aunt Maude.   Something else was niggling at the back of his brain-filled head, but one doesn’t like to pry.

“Could we have a bath and then go to sleep?”

“That would be very pleasant, love.”

We set the dinner things on the rolling cart, then I lurched into the bathroom and opened the taps.

 

**Jeeves**

I spent much of my time in Calais consulting with an old friend over the paperwork that Lord Yaxley had given me.  Had Mr. Wooster not been in desperate need of rest, I would have felt terribly guilty about deceiving him.   As it was, I was only somewhat more uncomfortable than usual when acting without his full knowledge.

My old friend, Georges, was somewhat older than Lord Yaxley.  He had been my instructor in the French language, and my officer and I had worked with him frequently during the war. We had kept up a sporadic correspondence over the intervening years.  “You see this?  Before the war, it was possible to send anyone.  Now, sometimes it is easy, and sometimes it is not. I cannot tell you. With a letter from a lawyer it is very good. But if you can bring this Mr. Wooster with you on the errand, it is no problem.”

“I thank you very much, Georges.  Can I offer you something?”

“Ah, no, this is what friends do for one another. The tobacco you brought is very good, and the Scotch.  Perhaps we will take an espresso together?”

“I would enjoy that very much.”  He told me about his family and grandchildren, and invited me to visit them with my friend whenever I liked.

“My friend?

Georges looked away, to hide him amusement I believe.  “The one who looks like your captain.  I was somewhat early to meet you and saw you helping him.”

My blood went cold. “That is my employer, Mr. Wooster.”

“He is very like.”

“I do not see much resemblance.”

Georges smiled.  “You were much younger and he perhaps appeared different.  I saw a man that looks very like your captain. His manner is quite different, I think.  He seems very kind.”

“Yes, they are quite different in almost every way.”

“Almost every way?”

“They belong to the same club.”

“Ah.”  Georges looked at me, weighing his thoughts. “I felt for your situation with the captain, young Reginald, but… you were safer staying with him.  He had your best interests at heart, I think.”

“He saved me.”

“So I heard.  This new master is deeply interesting to me. I think you have very strong feelings for this man, but I do not know whether you understand what they are.”

“I am quite certain that I do not.”

“Would you permit me to meet him?”

“May I consider this?”

“That means that you would like to consult him first?  That is very good.  If it becomes difficult for you in England, you bring him here and you will be among friends.  Do you understand, Reginald?”

“I do.”

We walked around Calais. Georges helped me obtain some presents for Lady Yaxley and my mother.  I returned to the hotel determined to review the papers once more before involving Mr. Wooster in any schemes.  Such things upset his tranquility of mind.

Arrangements for dinner posed a momentary difficulty for us as I felt it was safer to maintain our pretence in every possible way, including ordering very distinct meals.  Mr. Wooster seems very unused to such deceptions.  However, the meal passed pleasantly.  I was struck by his increased tendency to listen patiently now that we have declared ourselves to one another. I do very much enjoy the pleasure of his conversation, however silly I find some of his pursuits, and I find that Mr. Wooster’s desire to know me as a man is very attractive.

****

**Bertie**

The bath was about halfway full when Jeeves trickled in wearing his dressing gown. I peeled off the outer crust and turned to clamber into the warm water.  A firm hand at my back steadied me, and Jeeves flowed in behind me, setting his arms along the back of the tub.  I leaned back against his chest and closed the e.s.

“Please Reggie, why do you not want to discuss…” A soft sound like a saddened lamb sounded in my ear. “I apologize, Reggie.  I’ll stop troubling you about it.”

He slipped an arm around me, and then the other. I wrapped mine around his. We sat quietly while he arranged his thoughts.

“It is very good of you to think of this, and I am in agreement that we should be more even in our private life. But please consider, dear Bertie, that you provide everything that supports our lives and I am used to being your dependent. Now that we are more than simply master and man, I derive even greater satisfaction from caring for you and your comfort than I did when we had a purely professional relationship.  It gives me genuine pleasure to know that my actions make you feel cared for.”

“I understand, I think, because I am wondering how can I show you what…whatsit.”  I closed the peepers for a moment. “Reg?”

“Yes, love?”

“How long have I been sleeping?” 

“I am not certain.  Perhaps half an hour.”

“Ah.  Sorry.”

“It’s no inconvenience. I greatly enjoy holding you like this.”

“I feel suddenly quite boomps-a-daisy.”

We settled into my bed.  The springs squeaked like a group of very raucous mice.  We moved into his bed, which was quiet, but Jeeves seemed a bit unsettled. 

“You seem restless, Reg. Do you want to read an improving book? You inhaled the one you had today, it seemed.  Is this a symptom of your desire for more educational matter?”

“No, thank-you, I have read enough improving material for the day.”  He said this in a soupy tone.  I wondered if the fresh air had aroused anything.  I was feeling sprightly.

“Would you like to exchange some affections?”

“I would not wish to trouble you.”

“Reg! That’s what you say when I offer to play music you don’t like. Do you not care for my affections? Do they in some way offend your tender sensibilities?”

He chuckled.  “I enjoy your affections very much, as you are no doubt aware.  I simply do not wish to tax you when you are tired.”

“Perhaps I would like to exchange affections.”

“Would you like to exchange affections?”

“I wouldn’t wish to inconvenience you…”I winked impishly.  Jeeves tumbled me toward him and kissed me, but I wriggled away.  “No, no, old top.  It won’t do. I find those paisley pajamas deuced unsettling to the jangled nerve endings.” 

He flushed, but immediately unbuttoned his top.  How I adored those blushes.  I ran my hand over his heavenly chest and helped him slide the silk over his gorgeoulsy muscular shoulders.  “And the trousers, too, I’m afraid. It’s no use blushing pinker. I have no mercy with regard to paisley. Off they come, this instant.” A quite naked Jeeves wrapped me in his arms and kissed me soundly.

“Shall I assist you?” 

“I can assist myself.”  He lay on his side and watched me undress, taking the opportunity to peer curiously into the Wooster pajama bottoms while I was occupied untangling myself from my top.

“Are you distracted now?”

“Very distracted indeed, Reg.  You seem to have covered up for some reason, and I am most concerned that there is some paisley lurking about your person.”    

“Perhaps, as Mr. Rex Stout would put it, you would like to ‘commence investigations into the matter’?”

“That is a sound plan.  I believe I should, as you say, commence, as you say, investi-thingummy into the whatsit.”  He chuckled again.

I made to lift the covers and have a good look at the matter of interest, but Jeeves held them down with a hand. One eyebrow lifted archly. “I believe I must examine your credentials before allowing you to proceed in this investigation.”

“My credentials, is it?”

“Yes.”

“And you propose to examine them?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Thoroughly and by all necessary means.”  He reached out a marvelous Jeevesian hand and lightly stroked my phallus and the little chaps.

I struggled against the waves of pleasure and found my voice. “Ah.  And if I refuse to permit this examination, as you call it?”

He smiled impishly and slipped his hand between my thighs, stroking and easing them apart so that he could reach the smooth place behind the chaps. “I would strongly recommend that you consent.” He pushed against the Wooster hip gently.

“You would?” I yielded and flopped onto the back and let him splay the Wooster legs.

He nuzzled the tender areas gently, covering my private bits with gentle, teasing kisses. “I believe you may find it to be quite satisfactory.”

I swallowed. “If you put it that way.”

“I do.”

**Jeeves**

Mr. Wooster is a darling man and precious to my heart.  Were I of a sentimental and fluffy bent, I would have no qualms in describing him as a specific dream rabbit.  Thankfully, I have no such tendencies and can therefore only remark that my love for him is like a thousand red roses, redder than the red of those that preoccupied the Poet Burns.  My feelings of tenderness for Mr. Wooster were only intensified by his feelings of discomfort at the inherent inequalities in our relationship and his desire to demonstrate his affection for me in some more palpable way than a gift of cufflinks. 

While he drowsed in my arms in the bath, I had an opportunity to reflect on these very same inequalities, and found that I had not fully considered the heavy burden of responsibility we have undertaken for each other.  His status and my intellectual gifts gave each of us a particular type of advantage in our dealings with each other.  Mr. Wooster’s strong code of honor, however, would likely now forbid him from exercising his prerogatives as an employer unless he felt it was a matter of ensuring my safety.  I would be unsurprised if, therefore, he felt at a distinct disadvantage in terms of our day-to-day dealings, which must be remedied at the earliest possible time, as I cannot bear the thought of him feeling so vulnerable.  However, his only thought appears to be to ensure that we maintain a more equal mutual footing.

I once again underestimated the depths of Mr. Wooster’s kind generosity.  It seems that he deliberately took his rest in order to be refreshed enough to engage in amorous activities. I would have been willing to defer my pleasure for another day or two, but his readiness, and in fact eagerness, for such contact was most welcome.  

Mr. Wooster's sense of play in our activities is also quite delightful. I found that I very much enjoyed the spectacle of him disrobing, particularly the fond protectiveness I feel when he tangles himself in his pajamas. The ready adaptability of his spirit added another layer of enjoyment to our activities, as he cheerfully allowed me to examine his “sensitive regions,” as he calls them, most thoroughly, then bring him to his climax with my lips and tongue before permitting him to perform the same office for myself. The feel and taste of him in my mouth is exquisite and I find that words fail to describe my feelings when he reciprocates these activities. How glad I am that Mr. Wooster expressed a desire to kiss and “whatnot” me in those same sensitive regions.  It was a novel experience for both of us, and one that has brought us a great deal of mutual pleasure.  


	9. A mystery to solve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie steps up and offers some aid and succor where succor and aid are needed. Jeeves reveals the secret of the soft-bosomed shirts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will we find that Bertie is not a totally useless drone after all?

**Bertie**

Time ticked merrily along. “You were quite right about that examination, Reggie. It was bally well topping.  How did you find the results of the investigation into the whatsit?”

“Exquisitely pleasurable.”

“I was most relieved to find your person to be completely devoid of paisley.  As well as being quite utterly and toppingly delicious.  Is it safe curl up and kip together do you think?”

“I will stay until you fall asleep, but I feel it would be safer if I slept in the other bed.”

“Very well.”  Wooster is not a genius by any stretch of the imagination, but he is not a complete fool.  Jeeves was still bally well preoccupied by something. I finally pretended to doze so he could biff off and get some relief, then I waited, but the light stayed lit.  Something was, as they say, amiss. I knotted a dressing gown around the naked corpus then shuffled out in my slippers.

Jeeves sat at the table with a notebook and a pile of papers.  He was bent over, working at something.  I shuffled closer.

“What ho, Reg.”

He looked up wearily. “Do you need anything, love?”

“What?  No… well, yes. One does not like to pry, Reg, but Wooster is no fool. You appear restless and neither improving books nor, er, whatnot, have been sufficient to quell the troubled, er, things. May I?”  He inclined his head with the air of a man succumbing to forces beyond his power.  I sat in the other chair and picked up a restless banking agreement.  It was in French--bally annoying. Someone had taken a deposit box for me in Paris for some blasted nuisance of a reason. Ah, my uncle George. “What is all this?”  Jeeves looked acutely uncomfortable.  “I say, did Uncle George give this to you and swear you to secrecy and all that?”

“Yes, he did.”

“It’s mine in trust until I achieve the ripe old age of….”

“Twenty-one, love.”

“Twenty-one!  That was years ago. The dashed cheek, Reg.” My ire turned to perplexity.  "Why not just give it to me?” 

“Perhaps he said something to you, love?”

“He told me about Uncle Willoughby,” I said.  And then the memory clicked back into place.  “He also said that he’d had an understanding with his valet. And that I could never survive a loveless marriage. He said he’d offer what protection he could no matter how I chose to live my life.” 

The Jeevesian visage lost its usual color before warming back to a sickly beige with green tinges strewn about the edges for added visual interest.  I cackled hollowly. “Yes, I felt the same way.  Imagine having to face him when he was spewing out this drivel.”

“Indeed. How did you respond, love?”

“Evasively. How else could I respond? I tipped self off the blasted bench, scrabbled on the dusty ground for my whangee, then pretended I’d no bally idea what the deuce he was talking about. Luckily, the whole family think I’m a dashed idiot. Haven’t you been doing the same thing?”

“My situation is somewhat easier, love.”

“He must have paid you?”

“He was rather insistent in indicating that there might be expenses, love.”

“It should cost about ten… pounds, is it? To close the account?”   

“I believe the figure is ten francs, love.”

“Is that more or less?”

“Less, love.”

“Ah.  Any idea what is being stored?”

“None.”

“Rummy.”

**Jeeves**

I now deeply regret the times I have wished that Mr. Wooster had better command of his tongue.  His abilities in stimulating what he terms “the private bits” being quite stupendous, I was pleasantly surprised to find that he was equally skilled in his attentions to what he calls “the little chappies,” an appellation that nearly made me snort aloud in the midst of our amorous activities.  Years of practice have made me reflexively cautious of Mr. Wooster’s feelings, and I was able to suppress my laughter.  Yet, despite my feelings of erotic satiation, I remained uneasy about the mysterious manner in which Lord Yaxley had asked us to perform what could have been very simple errands.  

My surprise at Mr. Wooster’s perception of my anxiety was considerable. For years, I have endeavored to protect Mr. Wooster as much as possible from the rigors of everyday life. His determination to establish a more mutual relationship extended beyond matters of the bedroom even to these matters of importance.  My relief at his immediate offer to provide what he would term “aid and succor” at this time was considerable. 

 

****

**Bertie**

Lurking amid the pile of paperwork was the little box Uncle George had given me.  In all the excitement, I had not bothered to open it and its mysteries remained sealed to Wooster.  I looked at the bank account, with oodles of oof and the following blasted unclear epistle. 

**_My very dear Bertie;_ **

**_Apologies for the delay in discharging this office and my inability to explain the source of these funds to you personally.  I trust that these matters will become clearer to you in the next few days. Some years ago, I was asked to secure this sum to you against your 21st birthday, little realizing that Willoughby would also leave you with a comfortable competency._ **

**_My feelings of satisfaction at being able to transfer this money to you are only heightened by your role in uniting me with my dear wife, your Aunt Maude.  I trust you will use them as befits your personal responsibilities._ **

**_Your loving uncle George Wooster, Lord Yaxley._ **

 

This was rummy. I’d seen Uncle Willoughby’s will, and my father’s and there was no mention of this oof in either. It remained a question fit for rife speculation as to where this money had origi-something and who had had the foresight and beneficence to bestow it upon the young Wooster, not to mention who would have asked Uncle George to settle the money for me rather than Uncle Willoughby.  “This is a bit rummy, Jeeves. Do you make anything of it?”

“No, I do not.  I feel quite uneasy, love.”

He pulled out a ring from the box as well. I looked at it.  “Why did he give me grandmother’s wedding ring?  You don’t think that Uncle Willoughby gave it to…” 

“Goodness.” 

“It’s engraved. Jeeves, anyone would have known what it was.”

“How unutterably and unforgivably foolish,love.” The sickly greenish color drained out of his face until even his lips had turned white. The willowy limbs were called into service and draped about the Jeevesian form. “I confess that should tell you something else. I showed these papers to a friend here.  One I met during the war.”

The lemon swam. “What if they had been…”

“Please do not be distressed.  I read enough French to understand. I ensured that it was relatively safe before I shared anything, love.”

“Perhaps I should just accompany you to the bank.”

“Lord Yaxley preferred that you not be there.  He seemed concerned about your probable reaction, love.”

“I’m more concerned about my probable reaction to your being arrested and taken away from me. What did your friend tell you?  You’re not answering, which means he told you to bring me with you and you were planning to find another way to manage. Do you always do things like this for me?”

He exuded discomfort, disquiet, and distress not to mention dis-thingummy.  “I do whatever I can to save you from tasks you would find bothersome, love.”

I rolled that around the Wooster noggin. “My investments have been doing very well of late, have they not?”

“Yes.  I have been doing some research into the matter.”

“Do you think we can gradually become more open with each other? Or should be take the quicker route and do it all at one go, like diving into the chill waters?”

“I was not aware that you had anything to hide, love.”

“Hence, if that is the word I want, my need to be more open with you.  I’m surprised, Reg, with your big brain, not figuring that out.  We’ll have to increase your ration of fish. Raise an eyebrow if you wish.” I rested the bean against his shoulder and was rewarded with a fond smile and some kisses. “Have I been paying you a commission at least?”

“That would be most irregular, love. I am already most generously remunerated.”

“You realize that I will accompany you to this bank.”

“Thank-you, love.  It is a relief.  My friend also asked to meet you.”

“Meet me?”

“He was on terms of some intimacy with my officer and myself during the war.  I was very young then and he took an interest in my… situation.”

“Situation?” 

“It is an unpleasant topic.”

“Ah. You know I have no wish to pry, Reg.”

“If you agree to meet my friend, it would be best if I shared some information with you.  He is French and has a looser idea of what is fitting to speak about than we do.”

“I’ll do whatever you like, Reg.  You’ve only to tell me.”

He pondered this with his fish-fed brain. “I would like you to meet him.  However, if you feel uncomfortable, I will explain to him that it would be best to defer the meeting.”

“How unpleasant is this information, Reg?” He laid the brain-filled bean on my shoulder and suppressed a shudder.  “Come back to the bed?” He took my hand and let me settle him under the covers and ensconce him in the willowy limbs. He explained, briefly but pithily, if that’s the word I want, that things between himself and his officer had not been exactly preux at first. This friend had bound his wounds and anointed him with oil and suchlike. I was pipped to hear how he had been treated, and I am certain that he glossed over most of the matter in order to spare me, much as I had stuck to the high points when explaining my scar.

 

**Jeeves**

Conversation took another turn for the disturbing when Bertie—how odd, that slip of the pen—opened the envelope that Lord Yaxley had addressed to him. Some unknown benefactor had bestowed a fortune on Mr. Wooster during his boyhood and Lord Yaxley had only recently recalled the obligation or had some obstacle lifted that had heretofore hindered its execution. Neither of us could determine.

More welcome was Mr. … no, I find that he is Bertie in this context, Bertie’s observation that we become more open with each other.  I wonder what he will reveal.  Of course, his reaction to my revelations was as generous and open as his conduct has been ever since I burst into his bed wearing nothing but my undershorts. 

It was very difficult to describe my officer’s early advances. Had Mr. Wooster not related a similar part of his own history, I doubt whether I would have been able to share the circumstances that had deepened the relationship between Georges and myself to a friendship.  As it was, I could only relate that I had felt very coerced during our initial encounters and struggled with my feelings of embarrassment and shame.

My officer had decided to initiate an intimate liaison with me, undoubtedly from the time he had first examined my body in a state of undress.  Several months into our association, we were in France, dwelling in a remote cottage while we waited for contact from Georges, who had a long history of work with my officer. I brought in water so that my officer could bathe and was refilling to kettle so that he could regulate the temperature. This had become my habit after he had insisted on some highly improper contact when I had performed that office for him on several occasions. That day, he came in and shut the door before I was finished building up the fire. 

“Skin off, lad,” he said, locking the door behind him. 

“Sir?” I blessed the years I had spent in service at a girl’s school, which had taught me how to suppress my tendency to blush.

“Skin off, lad.  I’ve an itch to see how magnificent hung you are and then to bend you over a chair and bugger you senseless.”  I stood unmoving. “You have been buggered before, lad?”

“No, sir.” My heart beat madly in my chest, but I was cognizant of the great blessing of my previous employment. Although young girls are, truly at times, imps from the furthest reaches of the satanic depths, they tend to lack a penchant for buggering the page boys.

He considered as he undressed. “That’s surprising, a looker like you. I said skin off, lad. Let's use the bed, then, and we'll try something else at first. I’d not like to hurt you. That’s right, lad, shorts, too. Ah, thank-you, lad. You are magnificent hung. Let me feel the skin of you.”

This encounter could have been far worse. Captain Woolf was, unbeknownst to me, interested in ensuring my enjoyment of these activities, and therefore extremely attentive to the possibility of causing me physical pain. He succeeded in ensuring that the only discomfort I felt was emotional, although that was torturous.  He had stroked my body until he saw signs of arousal, then instructed me to get onto the bed so that he could mount me from behind and handle my phallus while he pleasured himself. The deep humiliation I felt at this contact was heightened by my feelings of arousal, which led to a climax. My only source of consolation was in the fact that I managed to remain quiet. I waited until the officer had fallen asleep and slipped out of the bed to clean myself, then sobbed myself to sleep. I felt besmirched in the deepest possible way. 

The next few days were very difficult, as my officer had enjoyed our activities and renewed them each evening. I was tormented by my feelings of enjoyment as much as the shame. Georges arrived one morning just as I was emptying the bucket I’d used to clean myself. I had lost quite a bit of sleep and the evidence of my hours of sobbing was rather marked at that moment. My ability to suppress my emotions was rapidly fraying and I feared what would happen if the situation continued much longer. I took to washing more often in a futile attempt to erase the feelings that were tormenting my body and soul.

“Reginald? Are you unwell?” I started, glad that I had emptied the dirty water.

“Good morning, M. Dumas. It is good to see you.”

“My dear Reginald, something is very clearly troubling you. I will speak with Captain Woolf.” I froze, and he immediately understood the problem.  Apparently, Captain Woolf’s previous assistant had preferred to be killed in trench warfare than suffer his attentions.  “Ah. I see. Please, my young friend, there is no need to feel ashamed.  These things happen sometimes. Come here.” I could not bring myself to move as Georges moved forward, and clasped me in a manly embrace. I somehow prevented myself from breaking down weeping in his arms. “You are a very good young man, Reginald. Please do not be concerned. Things will be much better for you now.”

Georges was as good as his word.  He spent two days with us, during which he occupied my officer’s time, kept him up late into the evenings and insisted on making me sleep outside in a tent as befit my inferior rank. I was very grateful, but not as much as I was when he decided that I should accompany him to his encampment while my officer reported into command. I had three days of respite from the fear of being importuned. One evening, Georges took me aside.

“Reginald, I spoke with Captain Woolf. I did not mention anything that would embarrass you. I think you misunderstand him. He is very fond of you and your intelligent mind. He would feel very unhappy to see how troubled you are. It will be safe for you to speak with him.” I thanked Georges for his kindness, and my next encounter with my officer marked the change in our relations.

Mr. Wooster was visibly upset as I related a much briefer version of this story.  “It’s rummy how that is so like,” he observed.

“Like?”

“Woolf, when he, er, had, er, me, I suppose, at first.” It took some thinking before I understood that Mr. Wooster had experienced similar feelings of arousal and shame during his experiences at school.

“Ah. Captain Woolf was good enough to alter his manner.”

“Woolf? That’s a rather rummy coincidence.”

“I believe he may have been your school mate’s uncle.”

Mr. Wooster considered this.  “That would be awfully rummy, Reg.  How we came together and knew the same chap.  I don’t believe it is really possible.”

“I have only served men who are members of the Drones or Junior Ganymede book.”

“Still.  Perhaps, as long as we are taking on mysteries, we should investigate the case of the double Woolfs. Reg, did you really write twelve pages about me in that book?”

“Sixteen, in fact.”

“Do I come off as a bally insane fool?”

“No, not exactly. You are simply much more…interesting than most gentlemen.”

“You won’t tell them about what we’ve been up to?”

“My very dearest, most treasured love, I would never endanger you in that way.”

“When you say altered his ways, Reg, what did you mean?  Did things, er, improve?”

“Yes, they did.”

“Did you… No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry.”

“There is no need for such apology, love, or such reticence.  I believe that in our current situation we should be open with each other about our past experiences.  We did continue to have such relations.”

“How did you…I, er, how did it become, er, possible, again?”

“He convinced me that he did not wish me any harm, and, I must admit, I did feel an attraction to him.  I was very young and did not understand the nature of our proclivities terribly well.”

“Ah. And you?”

“I did come to care for him. It was not until I met you that I understood what such a connection might really be.”

At this juncture, Mr. Wooster folded me warmly in his arms and covered my face with kisses. I returned his attentions with enthusiasm.

 

****

**Bertie**

Jeeves told his tale resting his head against the Wooster breast and closing the e.s. with a sigh several times. I petted him until the Jeevesian breathing became more regular.  “Is there anything more I can do for you, Reg? You seem a bit rattled, and I feel the need to offer you more reassurance. You’re blushing, old top... I’d be happy to do anything, within reason of course. Would you like me to divest you of this bothersome paisley and commence investigations?”

“I believe that I need to tell you something further.”

“Reg, you’re shaking like a reed.”

“I feel somewhat overcome.  Please forgive the liberty, Bertie, but I brought the pink soft-bosomed shirt…” He flushed, and the Wooster jaw dropped open in sudden comprehension.  “I apologize for having been so…disingenuous with you.  You look, have always looked, very well in them, very well indeed. So well, in fact, that when you first purchased them, I found the image of you thus attired to be disturbing my sleep.”

“And therefore you removed them from the wardrobe?”  He waited.  “Ah…and laid one out on the first night we planned to, er, whatnot,… and tonight.  Ah. Rather!”

“In fact, I do not believe they are appropriate evening attire, or I would have merely suppressed my feelings.  However, I do apologize for not explaining this more fully the other day.”

“No, no, no.  No need for apologies, Reg. It was a most pleasant surprise then, and I confess to being rather taken with this idea now.” He rose to open his suitcase and brought me the shirt.  “Is there anything else I should know about this dream or would you prefer to show me?”

“I believe that we can come to a suitable agreement.  Allow me to help you…”

“No studs?”

“That will not be necessary. No, no, love. Your pajama trousers are similarly unnecessary.”

“Ooh.  I say, that is a bit breezy, what? Rather free about the chappies. Your paisley appears a bit strained, Reg.”

“Indeed.  Perhaps you would be so good as to help me disrobe?  Ah, perhaps one button at a time? And would you be so good as to.”  A strangled sort of gargle escaped him as I stroked the smooth, soft skin of the quickly hardening region indicated.

“May I take you in my mouth first this time?”  His breath accelerated.

“That would be most welcome, indeed.”

 

**Jeeves**

“Reg, I’ve been trying to ask something, and I am not sure, exactly how to find the words for, er…”

“Whatnot?” I ventured.

“Precisley,” he beamed and my heart swelled.

“I am not certain I understand what you would like.”

“Would we be able to, that is, do you think that you and I could possibly, feel, inside each other, that is, you and I?” He flushed a very adorable shade of scarlet.

“Our current activities have been so blissfully satisfying that I feel no need to rush forward, but if you would like to proceed more quickly toward that goal, we can.”

Mr. Wooster, Bertie, appeared quite, chuffed I believe is the term, at my communication. “Oh, no need to rush. I am quite blissful as well, old top.  Just, as it were, checking to see what your thoughts are.”  He then offered me some additional “reassurance,” and, in the spirit of openness, I revealed a most treasured erotic fantasy and asked him to wear the pink soft-bosomed shirt.  My Bertie—how good that feels to write—is an incredibly good-natured lover. I feel myself growing firm just thinking about the expression of charming eagerness on his beloved face as he offered to take me in his exquisitely formed mouth, with the evidence of his own arousal protruding gently from his pale pink soft-bosomed shirt.


	10. What ho, Stilton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie discovers something rummy about Stilton Cheesewright. Jeeves is vexed. Spies are met. Berets are purchased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bertie tries to take Jeeves out on a date...will they ever get to have their fusion of whatnot?

**Bertie**

Often when events have been perking along at a great rate it comes as a disappointment when the slow-down occurs.  That was not the case for Reg, oh, Jeeves, I mean, and myself. Our trip to Paris lacked the great eventfulness of the preceding week, and I found it deuced restful.  We had a quiet visit with Jeeves’s old friend from the war, followed by a q trip on a q train to Paris, which is not q in itself but was q for a great metrop, if you know what I mean.

Jeeves’s friend Georges downed a cup of espresso with us—vile stuff, but one does not like to be uncivil.  The visit opened on an awkward note as such v.s often do, with all the unspoken whatsit suffusing the atmosphere and nary a snifter to ease things along. We did some small talk about the weather and whether there was like to be a bumper crop of those white asparagus. I never cared for them much, but Jeeves exudes a certain _je ne sais quois_ when they are in season, so I gobble them with as much gusto as I can muster when he serves them.  

Georges was a comfortable, cheerful sort of fellow, exuding bonhomie and good cheer. Although he seemed a rather nice chap all around, he appeared extra fond of Reg, I mean Jeeves, regarding him with the look of indulgent affection one sees when fond uncles take favorite nephews for ice cream. Rather like Bobbie Wickham and her niece, Clementina, come to think on it.  Not that any fond uncle had treated Wooster thus, but the looks that hailed Jeevesward from the visage of this Georges did smack of a certain thingness like to the expression on Aunt Dahlia’s face when I was less dim than is customary, or the expression on Aunt Dahlia’s face when Jeeves does her a kind service.  Rummy, I never noted that aspect of the thing before.

Wooster had never encountered Reg in a personal situation, except of course for that weirdness with Uncle Jeeves, which could be discounted because they could not relax like family members do when gathered together two or three. Georges seemed genuinely interested in Reg and wanted to know what sort of a chap I was and whether I was treating him well.  He asked a lot of questions, which I suppose these foreign coves tend to do.  What can one say when asked how one thinks Reg is doing in his career?  He is the best damn bally valet that ever lived and he can out-buttle the competition to boot. I am blasted lucky to have him. Fellows are constantly trying to nip him away from me, offering fabulous salaries and other blandishments, and I live in constant fear that a better offer will take him away from me, leaving me with some inferior model at best or another knife wielding drunkard at worst.

When I mentioned the other coves offering fabulous b.s, the Jeevesian visage raised a disdainful eyebrow.  “I found that many of the ‘blandishments’ I was offered, as you term them, would not have been at all to my liking.”

Wooster boggled.  “Eh? What?”

Georges burst out laughing, clapping me hard on the arm. “Blandishments?  Is that what you English call this? Reginald is a very beautiful man, is he not? I think that many men would offer him their blandishments as you say.”  Reg looked annoyed, and I flew off the chair, landing in my lover’s lap.  Anger suffused the Wooster veins.

“I say! That is hardly preux.”

Reg simply vibrated. “Let me help you back to your chair, sir.” He shot a reproving glance Georges-ward, but Georges remained stalwart and unrepentant. I gained some respect for him, as the Jeevesian reproving glance often made lesser men quail and was capable of reducing hardened hell-hounds to obedient jellies.

“Thank-you, Jeeves.” I took a sip of the espresso and tried not to curl up into a ball while simultaneously scraping at my tongue with a demitasse spoon. 

“Preux it is not, my new friend,” said Georges, patting the Wooster forearm kindly. “But the wealthy and powerful believe, often that they can simply take what they want from the people who serve them.”

“That is blasted unsettling to think about,” I said, the pipes quivering in indignation

At this juncture, Georges became rather prying with regard to the status of things between Reg and the young master. The stuffed frog appeared, which amused Georges highly. “You have perfected this face since I knew you well, Reginald, but with me it gives away more of your thoughts than it hides.” He patted the stuffed frog fondly on the cheek, with a twinkle of affection, and I expected a bit of a blow-up, but Reg seemed to relax. “You remember that, Mr. Wooster,” Georges told me.

Luckily, Reg thought to mention my fondness for Anatole’s cooking, and we spent the rest of the visit very happily.  It seems that Georges approved very highly of Englishmen who understood that the only proper food was _aux_ things.

When he offered to have us out for a visit as his friends, I became uncomfortable and drew self up a bit, which could have been off-putting had the spindly metal chair at the next table not gotten caught on the Wooster foot and toppled over, affording amusement to all and sundry.

“I must go. You seem quite kind to Reginald, Mr. Wooster,” said Georges as he left, kissing me firmly on both cheeks. “This is very good. You are a good man, Mr. Wooster, and I commend you.”

**Jeeves**

The meeting between Bertie and Georges went rather better than I anticipated. Something in Mr. Wooster’s elegant appearance immediately appealed to Georges, and he was therefore inclined to be gentle. Bertie is a very engaging and cheerful man, which also recommended him. They each found the other to be reasonably sympathetic on the state of the weather, the wearing of berets—I shuddered inwardly at the thought of the commentary at the Junior Ganymede Club on seeing my employer venturing out into the London streets thus attired—and white asparagus, a particularly favorite vegetable of mine. Bertie seemed primarily concerned with making a good impression. The expression on his face as he manfully sipped at his espresso without flinching earned him an extra helping of the affection of his choice. 

Georges wanted, I know, to discover whether Bertie and I are lovers, but it was still too delicate a topic for me to discuss.  Recognizing that we are, in fact, British, and therefore do not discuss our feelings openly, unless they are feelings of annoyance, Georges asked Bertie instead about my skills.  He hoped, no doubt, to trick Bertie into revealing his feelings indirectly.  Even as a very young and irresponsible man, Bertie had some sophisticated and thoughtful views on household management and the proper state of a man’s wardrobe.  It was this that first induced me to think that something could be made of him. Georges was quite surprised at this. Bertie’s opinions of my skills are somewhat exaggerated, a situation I never felt a need to remedy until now.

Our conversation took an unexpected and highly unwelcome turn when Bertie used the word “blandishments” to describe the conditions pertaining to some of the offers of employment I have received. Of course, many of these situations were predicated on my willingness to provide intimate services.  My revulsion at the thought of having any type of sexual congress with anyone except Bertie overcame my good sense at that moment, much to Georges’s amusement.  Naturally, it had never occurred to my generous, kind, and honorable employer that I could be an object of sexual prey to the gentlemen for whom I worked.  In fact, I am reasonably certain that he does not understand how and why my officer hired me, since I could not bring myself to describe that interview to another living person.  Bertie’s shock and indignation was considerable, and I foresee a long conversation on the matter in my near future.  Thankfully both Bertie and Georges enjoy French food, and they got on extremely happily once I redirected the conversation.  I noted down several out-of-the way restaurants and bistros where Bertie and I could take a meal together during our stay.

****

**Bertie**

Our cab was waiting, so there was no time for a private chat until we reached our flat in Paris. I wanted to be settled in a routine that involved snugging up with Reg as much as possible.  Even Reg was showing a hint of the strain around the edges of professional face by the time the luggage had been hauled up and bunged into the right spots.

“Well, here we are,” I said, tooling through the rooms.  This place sprawled, quite unlike the London flat.  I kept only a small space there because it strongly discouraged an unimpeded stream of visitors.  Jeeves had engaged larger flats for us in New York, and the sense of space was enjoyable, but outweighed by the necessity of having guests, their aunts, my aunts, their uncles, and the occasional dog flowing in and out of the place.  “Thank-you for arranging this.”

“Of course,” Reg was already opening cases and stowing the goods and chattels. I hated to see him taking everything on when he was obviously a bit done in.

“If I help will it help or just make more for you to do later?” The Jeevesian jaw flapped gently. “Wooster is not a fool, Reggie.  You look a bit worn, and I want to help.”

“It will be quicker if I attend to this. Perhaps you would like to visit your club? I can set things to rights and do some marketing then prepare dinner.”

“What if I run into Tuppy Glossop? I’d rather not get involved in any schemes. And I don’t like the idea of you working too hard.  You look a bit done in. Would it be untoward if we went to a simple bistro and had some dinner together?  I mean, if someone saw us we could explain that I stumbled upon you on the afternoon off and…” The Jeevesian eyes shimmered delightedly.

“I know a place.  If you would be so kind as to hang these?” He handed me two jackets and two hangers.

A huge grin broke across the Wooster features. “Reg, you are the most specific dream rabbit.”  Some nuzzling was indicated, and applied liberally and as needed while we set things to rights.

A crash interrupted proceedings and Reg materialized at my side before the last object had hit the floor. “I am sorry about the shelving in the closet, Reg.  It looked more sturdy.”

“Indeed it did, love.  Are you hurt?”

“Just startled.”

“We can soon put it back up.”

We dressed and ankled it out of the flat together. Reg thought we should take separate routes, so we met at a simple bistro. France was more relaxed about the activities of men like us, but it would still not do to chum up in front of any of my numerous acquaintances, or Reg’s for that matter.  He seemed to know everyone who was anyone in the below-stairs world.

I enjoyed poking about in the quaint little cobbled streets and even found a vendor of berets from whom I procured a pair of rather topping black felt beauties.  I also found a very fetching flowing artist-type shirt in white cotton, which I arranged to have delivered to the flat by stealth as Reg would surely confiscate the thing if he saw it.

**Jeeves**

Our trip to Paris was, thankfully, uneventful. Although Georges was very amiable and cheerful as always, there was something in his demeanor that, niggled is the word I believe Bertie would use, at the back of my mind.

The new Parisian flat is quite satisfactory. I was especially pleased at the size of the bathtub, which appears ample for two people and should be an ideal situation for amorous activities in the next weeks.  It will be an ideal base for our honeymoon. 

I had a most pleasant surprise when Bertie suggested that we take a meal together.  My feelings on his calling me a specific dream rabbit were somewhat more chequered, not because I minded the appellation, although from anyone else it would be cloying, but rather because we did not thereupon peel off our clothes and exchange affections.  Perhaps I should be more forward with these suggestions in future. 

Georges had recommended several places, but I opted for a small, out-of-the-way place he had shown me as a very young man.  It had been the first time I took a meal without speaking English and therefore held an special appeal. I knew it to be one of Georges’s favorite spots and wondered why he had not suggested it.  

**** 

**Bertie**

When I walked into the bistro, Reg was waiting at a table, a glass of wine already in front of him and a plate of _moules aux beurre_ underway.  He looked relaxed and, truly, scrumptious.  I could hardly wait to get him back to the flat and peel off his simple tweed suit and partake of the pleasures therein.  We expressed polite surprise in our meeting, did a bit of squeezing of the arms, and settled in a dark wood room to eat slightly greasy food off a dark wood table. The wine was served in little glasses like the ones they used to serve fruit juice in New York.  We sparkled and twinkled at each other, and activities began to get underway in the region of the Wooster trousers.  It was difficult to keep my hands off of him, so I took refuge in business talk. 

“Jeeves, did we make arrangements to deal with that banking matter?”

“I made an appointment tomorrow at one in the afternoon, …sir.”  There was a twinkle in his eye as he said this that led me to believe he was thinking something else.

“And the other?”

“I believe we can call in the later afternoon.”

“And then?”

“Perhaps we could stay here for some days and then visit one of the coastal towns?” 

“Topping.”

We had moved on to topics of greater import, such as the likelihood of finding some really fruity socks and the lesser likelihood of my being permitted to wear them in public, when a loud voice boomed in the doorway.  “Ho!”

I started, sending a forkful of _entrecote marchand_ spinning through the air.

Reg grasped my arm and held me down as we turned to see the spectacle of D’Arcy, “Stilton” Cheesewright, former police officer and aspirant to a prominent position at Scotland Yard, bound through the door and lock the lips with another sturdily built lad.  When I looked up again, Reg and his dinner had disappeared.

Cheesewright and I had known each other from our earliest days at school, but relations had been rather, uneasy, unsettling, and unpleasant.  He was a large, beefy fellow much addicted to Swedish exercises and vigorous athleticism and characterized by a booming of the voice and flexing of the bulging biceps. Tact was not among his chief attributes, and Cheesewright had frequently expressed an interest in pounding Wooster into a jelly, breaking his spine, or otherwise damaging the slender corpus. Wooster had a taste for quieter pleasures, and had therefore been uncooperative in these ventures.  Several accidental romantic entanglements over the years had compounded problems. This lip locking put a rather new spin on past events, particularly after the amount of grief he had given me over relations with Florence Craye, a willowy platinum blonde pipperino who also, as it happened, ate ground glass for breakfast and forced chaps to read ethical theory.

Current events suggested that Florence would no longer be creating any disharmony between Wooster and Cheesewright. Stilton and the lad kept at it and I found myself impressed at the vigor with which they intertwined the tongues.  It was dashed fascinating, but I tore the eyes away, as it seemed a bit uncivil to stare at a former school—“chum” is not the right word as we never had a positive fusion of soul—but fellow, energetically twisting his tongue in another fellow’s mouth in the middle of a seemingly respectable, if dark and out-of-the-way, Parisian bistro. It was not, as they say, the done thing, by which I mean twisting the tongues in the mouths of other fellows in the middle of Parisian b.s. Eventually Stilton and pal came up for air, and Cheesewright spotted Wooster almost simultaneously.

“What ho, Stilton!”  I said cheerily, masking my deep annoyance at being interrupted by his bally rude snogging in the middle of my very first dinner date with Reg that did not require him to cook.  “Care for a snortful?”

The Cheesewright jaw scraped along the worn floorboards and Stilton adopted an attitude much like that of Roderick Spode when confronted with the word “Eu-something or other.” It was an attitude of spineless anxiety and eagerness to please, much like that of the dog McIntosh when confronted with anise-seed scented trousers. Stilton gave the appearance of a huge, burly fellow who was endeavoring very hard, if that is the word I want, not to fall to his knees in supplication begging for mercy.  Yet, many though the defects in the Cheesewright character be, cowardice is not among them. “Ah, Wooster… I mean, Bertie.  How… delightful to see you here in Paris.  You know Wally, I think?” Hands were shaken.

The Wooster bean wracked itself for a few seconds. A Cambridge man, if I placed him correctly.  “Of course! I do remember you from the night of the boat races.  Is that how you met Stilton?  Always nice to see old school chums, what? Where are my manners? Do sit down.  The _entrecote marchand_ is quite acceptable and I have heard that the _moules aux burre_ are also a solid choice.”

Stilon and Wally meekly ordered dinner. “What brings you to Paris, Wooster?”

“Family business.  And you, Stilton, old crumpet?”

It is an interesting thing about these beefy coves.  In the midst of the fray, their minds are keen, particularly when they are bent on mayhem and violence, but in situations of social deception, they are often at a loss.  “Er,” he began, flapping the jaw in a most unbecoming manner.

“Just a pleasure trip, then, Stilton?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jeeves choke on a mouthful of _canard aux pommes_.  The fact that he was Jeeves again means that a small twitch of the throat occurred.

Stilton manfully refrained from making a cutting comment. “Wally? Do you mind terribly if I meet you back at the hotel?  I have some business to discuss with Bertie here.”

Wally scarpered out the door without looking back.  As I observed to Gussie Fink-Nottle, I do not hold with craven scooting. This Wally appeared to me to be a craven scooter of the worst type. Unpleasant as things had been between Stilton and myself, I thought he could do better than a craven s. “You did not give his last name, Stilton. That was dashed decent of you.”

“Wooster, old bean,” started Stilton, “You wouldn’t?”

“I apologize for the jibe, Stilton. How have you been keeping?”

“I suppose you are wondering…”

“Oh, no, Stilton, one does not like to pry.”

Stilton clasped my arm warmly. Reg narrowed his eyes at this familiarity. “About that business with Florence, Bertie.”

“Already forgotten.”

“Thank-you, Bertie.” Dinner was bunged down, and Stilton set to with a good appetite. “You were quite right about the _entrecote marchand_ , old top,” he said. “I apologize, Bertie, but now that I see you, I actually do have business to discuss with you, and Jeeves, if you would permit me.”

“Jeeves?” I asked. “My dear Stilton, what trouble could you be in that would require his help?”

Jeeves shimmered over to the table and cleared his throat gently.  Stilton looked up and boggled, sending a forkful of _entrecote marchand_ flying. “Jeeves!”

“I had come here on the recommendation of a friend, and Mr. Wooster had chanced to receive a similar hint. On seeing me in the corner, he kindly offered to join me, but I felt it would be inappropriate given that you had entered with your friend.”

Stilton had gone the color of his namesake cheese. “You wouldn’t mention?”

“You required some help, Mr. Cheesewright.”

“Do sit down, Jeeves. What did you take?  Ah, look Stilton, Jeeves took the _canard._ All settled?  Good.  Can you proceed here, Stilton, or do we require stealth and concealment?”

“Stealth and concealment, Wooster.”

Jeeves stowed his _canard_ and rose. “If I may take a liberty, I would recommend that we gather back at Mr. Cheesewright’s hotel, where we can take a sitting room.”

“Sound thought, Jeeves.” Reg expressed a wish to take the air and left. “Will you walk with me, Wooster?”

 

**Jeeves**

I, sadly, recalled why Georges might not have recommended the bistro as a spot to bring Bertie when Mr. Cheesewright walked in the door with a friend and commenced an obviously inappropriate, and certainly staged, display of public affection.

The place had been a watering hole for MI6 operatives and a convenient meeting ground for all manner of spies. I moved to the background of the establishment and watched with some amusement, as Mr. Wooster confronted Mr. Cheesewright. Sadly, my amusement was of short duration.  A rather shifty-eyed individual had taken an unlikely amount of interest in Mr. Cheesewright and his companion.  That Mr. Cheesewright was well aware of some danger became clear when he sent his companion back to the hotel and physically interposed himself between the unseemly individual and the door.  I did what I could to aid this effort, and was reassured that Mr. Cheesewright insisted on escorting Bertie to the hotel.  I would not be able to think clearly should my new lover panic and grab my arm in a time of crisis.

****

**Bertie**

Stilton and I chatted of indifferent things, but he warmed to the topic of Swedish exercises, which he did every morning in the nude.  He had recommended same to me in preparation for the Drones Darts sweep, but I had not taken his words to heart until I witnessed Reg sweating deliciously.  Since then, I had taken rather more of an interest in the activity. We made it a little ways toward the hotel Stilton was infesting, and I realized that we were in a rather unpleasant neighborhood, especially for the time of night.  A rather unpleasant-looking fellow had followed us from the bistro, and I felt like a sheep being followed by a wolf. 

Stilton caught sight of the u-l f. and cursed. “All right Bertie? It’s just a few more blocks.”

“Ah, all right, then, Stilton.  So, you do these exercises every morning?” The timbre of the Wooster pipes was much more squeaky than usual.

Looking concerned, Stilton took my arm, and pressed it against his side.  “Here, Wooster.”  He sped up a bit, which I found most welcome. “Ah blast and damn.”

“Stilton?”

One of his meaty hands settled on the slender waist, and I felt myself pushed behind Stilton’s beefy form as a shot rang out. Stilton jerked and let out a volley of swear words that would have scalded a sailor’s ears, but kept upright and backed quickly away, keeping me well behind him. “Stay behind me, Wooster, please. That’s good, Bertie, keep moving.”

“I say, Stilton, are you…?” A muffled thump and the sound of a pistol clattering to the cobbles interrupted my thoughts, such as they were.  Stilton was grasping his left arm and muttering curses and he continued to back us down the alleyway.

A quiet voice sounded in my ear. “This way, sir, please.  If you would allow me to help you, Mr. Cheesewright.” 

“Jeeves!” 

“Hush, Wooster.”

“Sorry, Stilton.”

Reg inserted himself under Stilton’s good shoulder and propelled him several blocks to a row of flats.  Leaning Stilton against a doorway, he took out a key and opened a door. Stilton staggered in, careful, I noted, not to drip any blood.  We proceeded through the front room into the bath.

“Where are we?” Stilton asked.

“Mr. Wooster and I took this flat as a precaution during the business portion of our trip.  Please, Mr. Cheesewright, be so good as to sit down.  Mr. Wooster, would you fetch the bag from the room on the right.  No, sir, the right.  Thank-you.”

Reg ran his hand under the tap, and flipped open the bag. “Reg, that’s my heather mixture lounge.”

“I can explain later sir.  Mr. Cheesewright, allow me to help you with your jacket? Sir, I need your help.”

“D’Arcy,” said Stilton. “Wooster, are you all right? Did they get you?”

“Yes, of course, old top. I am fine. Thank-you for protecting the willowy form." Cheeswright snorted in amusement as I stepped forward to help.  The bleeding was not too bad, according to my companions. I felt a bit green about the fringes.  Stilton was quizzing Reg as to whether we were followed.

“You are safe here for now.”

“Oh gods!  Wally.”

“I am certain that Mr. Fortescue is unharmed. Your assailant followed you from the bistro.”

“Ah.”  I had, meanwhile, helped Reg extricate Stilton from his jacket. Reg produced a pair of scissors and cut the sleeve from Stilton’s shirt. Bandages appeared and a jar of petroleum ointment. Stilton and I both flinched when Reg pried the top off.

“Faugh!” we said in unison, gaping at each other like trouts. “Not you, too, Wooster?” said Stilton in shock. “I thought…” he closed his mouth and looked at Jeeves, who had slapped the taxidermied amphibian firmly over the dial as he daubed the wound liberally.

“This will help the wound heal more quickly, Mr. Cheesewright.”

“Thank-you, Jeeves.  I am in your debt, and yours, Wooster.”

“It is my pleasure, sir.”

“Don’t be a prat, Stilton, you just saved my life.”

“Is he dead?” Stilton was looking at Reg and asking him a question man to man, as among men of the world who share a respect and understanding.  Reg shook his head.

“I avoid killing whenever possible.”

I boggled. “I say. What?”

The evening went on much longer than I had initially anticipated.  Stilton refused to stay at the flat, and Jeeves refused to leave until Stilton could walk unaided.  We compromised propped Stilton on the settee while Reg and I cleaned up. One of Jeeves’s valet jackets was pressed into service for Stilton. 

Stilton, as it turned out, had been asked by his uncle to leave the police force in order to join MI6. He was currently on his first mission, which was to make contact with the last known associate of a rogue operative known as Boss W.  “It should have been simple and easy. The associate, known as Dumas, is friendly and agreed to the meeting, but he did not appear at the rendezvous, some blighter in a mask did, and tried to cosh me. Florence’s fury is nothing on this, Bertie.  I’ve been threatened twice and now shot.”

Reg had gone very still. “Your contact is called Dumas?  When was the rendezvous?”

“We were supposed to meet morning at a café.” He named the café across the street from our hotel.  “Apparently, he saw an old associate and got spooked, biffed off and has not been seen again.”

“Mr. Wooster, at our meeting this morning, did we mention where we would be staying in Paris?”

“I didn’t mention it, as I didn’t know until we got there.”

“Very good, sir.”

Stilton’s eyes narrowed as he looked between Reg and I.  “You were in MI during the war, Jeeves?”

“Yes, Mr. Cheesewright.”

“I asked you to call me D’Arcy.”

“That would be inappropriate.”

“Very well, I’ll not argue this in front of Bertie. Do you understand what we are facing?” Reg nodded grimly, and I made a mental note to quiz him about it as soon as we were alone.

“I believe I have an old friend who will be able to help, Mr. Cheesewright.”

“I am in your debt, Jeeves. Can you hie me hotel-ward?  And will you be safe getting back to wherever you are going?”

“I believe so.  We will accompany you the your hotel and then take a cab to the Intercontinental hotel.”

I did not understand what was happening, but one look from Reg sealed the Wooster lips.

**Jeeves**

I cannot think of an imprecation vile enough to express my feelings of chagrin that Bertie was embroiled in yet another dangerous event. My gratitude to Mr. Cheesewright knows no bounds.However, he also obliquely renewed an offer of employment with the MI6 group that I have rejected on several occasions.

I fear that Georges forewent a meeting with an MI6 operative, the nature of which was completely unknown to me.  I had not been acquainted with anyone who had the code name Boss W and Mr. Cheesewright was, understandably, reticent about the details. However, Georges might be able to identify the “blighter in a mask” and remove him from circulation, I believe is the term. 

I find myself glowing with pride in Bertie’s composure under all this stress.  I do not understand what made him respond so calmly and capably to our requests, but I hope we have an opportunity to find out.


	11. The stunning conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Craven scooting occurs. Bertie takes matters into his own hands. Jeeves receives an offer he'd like to refuse. An uncle rears his uncly head. Blandishments are given.

**Bertie**

The evening grew exciting, not the mode of excitement one finds at the 21 Club or even pinching policeman’s helmets after the university boat race, but the sort of thing that happens after you have been kidnapped and forced to take to the streets covered with boot polish in an attempt to outrun the blighters who think you are “Old Boggy” while avoiding capture by enraged Americans.  I know Sir Roderick Glossop, with whom said taking to the s.s. occurred during my trip in Chuffnell Regis, found the excitement dashed unpleasant.  So it was that Wooster did not particularly enjoy the offerings on this particular evening in Paris.  Promised a dinner date with the splendid Reg, Wooster found himself instead cravenly scooting through back alleys, damaging the second-best evening suit and ruining a perfectly good pair of pink silk socks.  Dashed annoying. 

Stilton insisted that we climb out a back window and s. cravenly through the shadows. Wooster does not hold truck with such furtive schemes. “Dash it, Wooster, you had no bally problem scaling the blasted house to gain entrance to Florence’s blighted room.” The Cheesewright disposish, never the sunniest, had frayed badly under the strain of being shot in the left bicep.

“Bandying, Stilton.” Wooster adopted a lofty tone designed to hide the fear and trembling that wracked the slender frame. “Let us hear no more about it.”

“The point is, Wooster, that I know you can scale, so get scaling.”

A quiet noise like to the sound of a lamb on a distant hillside choking on a mouthful of grass caught my attention.

“Jeeves?”

“If I may take the liberty of pointing out, sirs, this arguing could draw attention out on the streets. I advise that we quietly follow Mr. Cheesewright’s direction.”

“Ah. Right, Jeeves.  Quiet Wooster.”

We scaled.  Stilton went first, then me, then Reg. Logic dictated that Reg, who was sturdier about the musculature, would be the correct choice for aiding the beefy Cheesewright should he become enmired in trouble, yet Wooster was called to the task.  I suspected that Reg wanted to keep a careful eye on me in case I got entangled in drainpipes or tumbled off the building.  Dashed embarrassing, being tended like some bally infant. He hoisted a small bundle onto his back.

“Jeeves, what is that?”

“Our clothes for laundering, sir. They should be seen to before the blood stains set.” The grim look of him told me that there was no point in arguing. Sometimes the better part of valor is to carry about clothes for laundering.

Our journey unnerved the Wooster spirit to no mean extent and in a highly irksome way. Apparently the cove who had shot Stilton, or any number of his associates, could have been lurking anywhere, which necessitated our stealth and added a highly unwelcome sense of dread to proceedings.  We ankled over a slippery roof and then trickled down the opposite wall.  My performance met with the Jeevesian approval as I received a stealthy press of the hand and the bundle of clothes. I know how much stubborn stains always annoyed Jeeves, and therefore uncomplainingly dragged the bundle, while Reg helped Stilton along. Cheesewright was flagging. 

“D’Arcy?” Wally scampered forward and grasped him by the arm.  Stilton flinched, but held his ground. 

“Wally.” The Cheesewright voice held a hint of the gentleness that had characterized relations on the night Jeeves had broken down weeping into the Wooster pajamas. “I’m fine. Wooster, Jeeves, I am in your debt.”

“Say no more about it, Stilton.”

“Good night, Mr. Cheesewright.  Mr. Fortescue.”

Reg shoved us into another cab, and took back the bundle.

“Reg?”

“Yes, love?”

“Why were you and Cheesewright having an argument in low, muttered tones?”

“He was offering me a job.”

I drew self up. “If he made any improper suggestion to you…” Reg took my arm.

“No, he would not. Despite his violent proclivities, Mr. Cheesewright is an honorable man.”

We stopped at a posh hotel to send a cable. From the grim, tooth-gritting look of him, he was not best pleased with whomever was on the receiving end.  Then we took a roundabout route back to our flat, finally ankling it several blocks and climbed in a back window.  All that could be said for this was that it was less exciting than being at Brinkley Court since the danger of coming upon Florence Craye in her nightclothes was much diminished, but still the whole bash had been rather more stimulating than Wooster’s preferred evening pastimes of taking a snifter or two and flipping cards at a top hat.  Reg was a remarkable climber and evader, and the Wooster bean found itself preoccupied with questions about his usual pastimes.

The blood was well up and eager to be doing when we entered the flat and Wooster had Reg pinned against the wall in a lip-lock before the window was shut. We kissed hungrily, pressing our bodies together with a sort of desperation. Reg pulled away first, breath rasping.

“Let me place….” I tossed the blasted bundle of clothes into the hallway, then reapplied the Wooster lips to his, running my hands up and down his muscular corpus. He nibbled my lip and I let out a soft moan of desire as I pulled off his jacket and undid his tie. I could feel every one of his topping muscles through the soft fabric of his shirt. We wrenched the shirts off each other, and Reg steered me back toward the bed, scooping me up in his arms when I stumbled over a suitcase.  I wrapped my legs around his waist. He tipped me back onto the bed to undo my flies, stripping off my trousers and undershorts, running his wonderfully strong hands over my naked body, while I frantically struggled to undo his trousers.

“Reg, please?” I gasped, pulling at the buttons. He deftly undid the flies, then climbed up on top of me, planting his delicious mouth on mine while I slid his trousers and undershorts down over his straining member. We pressed together urgently. My hands were all over him and I hooked my legs in his so that we moved against each other in unison.  We looked into each other’s eyes, wordless as we rubbed, almost frantically, against each other. Too soon, I thought, I felt myself losing control, my back arching as I climaxed, moaning his name, but he collapsed, shaking on top of me just as I started to gather my wits about me.  I held him against me with my arms and legs, running my fingers through his hair until he shifted his weight off me.

“That was bally fabulous, Reg.” I pressed up against him, pushing as much of my bare skin as possible against him.  

He stroked my hair and kissed me tenderly on the lips, the forehead and then the lips again.  “I had something slower and more romantic in mind for this evening, love.” I moaned in pleasure as he applied the lips to the throat and began working his way down.

“No, it was perfect. It was just how I imagined being with you would be, Reg.” This effusion brought him up short in the region of the Wooster collarbones.

“How you imagined? You imagined us like this?”

I nodded shamefacedly. “Except in every room of our flat at home, and, er, twice. I realize it was not terribly preux, but I couldn’t help it.”

“Twice?” His eyes twinkled in fond amusement and he tousled the Wooster hair, which I was beginning to think signaled his heart going a bit soft at the edges. I made a soft noise like purring and wriggled against him.

“Or maybe three times, I wasn’t certain, really.”

“Ah.  Perhaps we should put this plan into action and determine the best number?”

We kissed again, the sort of kiss that curls the toes and tingles the spine. I insinuated myself along the length of him and he pressed me close, placing his firm hand against my back, then sliding it down to cup my bare bottom. I hooked a leg over his hip and framed his face in both hands while he tangled his fingers in my hair. “Not yet, Reg.  Could you show me more of what you had in mind, first?”

He gently brushed my lips with his. “Of course, love, but first there is something needful to be said.” Reg liked to talk when he felt uneasy, so I settled it within myself not to feel impatient. I nibbled at his chin and applied the lips to his throat. “Bertie,” our eyes met and I felt the same sense of melting into the sheets I had the night we spent in Reg’s bed at home. “I love you.  Ah, don’t cry, love.”  He brushed at my face with his thumb and kissed me gently on my lips and eyelids and cheeks.

“I’m just leaking a bit, Reg.  I love you, too, of course.  But, you did know that, though, I hope?”

“I suspected so, but it is very good to hear you say it.” We joined the lips and twined the tongues and the limbs slowly and tenderly, losing track of time.

“Now you’re leaking, heart’s delight. I say, Reg, are you all right?” For the tears had begun to flow freely down his beloved, handsome face. I kissed them away.

“I am excellently well, love.”

“Now will you show me what you meant, please?”

“With very great pleasure.”

**Jeeves**

I fear that we have become embroiled in matters that would be best left to themselves.  Mr. Cheesewright and his partner, Mr. Fortescue had been sent to meet with an agent called Dumas. Neither of us understood who would have shot at Mr. Cheesewright, whom we assumed was the probable target of the gunman, and we were forced to escape by stealth.  I took the opportunity to have a private conference with Mr. Cheesewright, and found that he was equally surprised and displeased by the appearance of an armed assailant. He renewed the offer of work at MI6. “Seen your record, the parts that aren’t classified.  Bally amazing.  Never had a perfect score on that entrance test before or since.  They’ll meet whatever conditions you set, Jeeves.  Offer stands for two years from receipt, which will be whenever you return to the metrop.”

“Is it futile to try and convince you that I have no taste for this sort of work?”

“There is need of you, and your talent for it is obvious, Jeeves.”

“My place is at Mr. Wooster’s side.”

“Weren’t you listening?  They will accept any condition you set, Jeeves.  He is a bit of an ass, but… Don’t go all stuffed moose. I’ve known him since we started school at a tender age and he is a bit of an ass. But the central point is that he did better than Wally tonight. It’s no use arguing.  We all have talents and do not get to choose them.” I cursed the day I had taken that exam.

My dear Bertie impressed me with his manly fortitude under the trials of the evening and the unprecedented, in my experience, degree to which he kept his wits about him. He steadily supported Mr. Cheesewright’s weight when that gentleman faltered while scaling walls, and uncomplainingly carried a bundle of laundry while in evening dress, which was a worse tribulation for both of us I am certain.  In our travels, he did not kick over one ash can, fall down, make a noise, or even drop the laundry, although he seemed a bit nonplussed when I asked him to send the cable while I pretended to be waiting for him. His reaction probably had more to do with my visible anger than any other factor. I could have simply choked Georges; however, it would not do to become too livid as such emotion clouds the thoughts.

When we entered the flat, through a back window, Bertie impressed me yet again, pressing me into a passionate embrace that would brook no denials.  He exuded the firmness of will that had formerly characterized his attachment to purple socks and that ridiculous scarlet cummerbund, the firmness of will I had always found it impossible to overcome by direct dispute. He commenced to tearing the clothes from my body and I found myself instantly inflamed, wrenching off his shirt. I divested him of his trousers, pressing his slender form down on the bed and rutting against him energetically.  Had I not been so aroused, I would have been afraid of hurting him, but as it was he eagerly met me with equal energy and urgency, locking his legs in mine and groaning delightedly during our exertions, then calling my name as he climaxed against me.  His reactions spurred me on to my own release.

While Bertie’s reaction to the danger of the evening was to become more eagerly passionate, mine was to ensure that I had shared my deepest feelings.  I felt reasonably certain that we loved each other, but it seemed important to say so, particularly when one of us had been shot at and the other had had to use a cosh on a foreign spy in a back alleyway in a foreign capitol in the course of what should have been innocent evening entertainments. I found myself silently weeping after he employed his very first endearment, and applied myself to ensuring that the rest of our evening reinforced the feelings of tender passion for him that I have been harboring for some considerable time now.

****

**Bertie**

Instead of a day spent naked, exploring each other with our tongues, which, to the Wooster mind was the well-deserved follow-up to the previous evening’s activities, Reg and I bally ankled it to the bally bank and opened the bally safe deposit box with the bally key.  It was bally lucky that I went along because the bally blokes at the blasted bank were a highly suspicious bunch of coves, asking all manner of questions about my bally name and blighted occupation, place of birth and residence, and the bally relationship between me and the bally blighter who purchased the bally box. Reg decided to pay the box fee for the next five years and not close the bally thing, which was another problem because I insisted that if he wanted the bally thing, then he was going to have to put his name on the paperwork with mine so he could deal with it himself. The coves at the bank were none too pleased, but they complied with our requests after Reg bombarded them with some really toppingly aggressive French.

We packed up the bally contents and stuffed them into a satchel.  Fortunately, I was so bally well annoyed that I took a last bally look to make sure I never had to darken the bally door again.  We found a small key wedged in a corner of the box.  Bally bally bally.  Did I say bally?  Bally.

We called on Stilton to see how he was bearing up. High and low we searched, but no Stilton, nor yet Fortescue, was to be found.  Further investigation revealed that he had left a message for me with the concierge. Apparently, he had gotten word from his contact and was toodling off to the coast for his originally planned meeting, Wally in tow.  I wondered what was between them, but of course one does not want to pry. Undoubtedly Reg knows, but I will trust him to tell me in his own time, just as I will trust him to share more about his past when he is ready. I suppose that I should tell him how I feel about that, as such things seem to matter to him.

**Jeeves**

I woke Bertie this morning well before his usual time in order to ensure that we could complete all of the necessary errands for the day and then have some time to ourselves before anyone else discovered our whereabouts. Fortunately, I had the foresight to bring a supply of Darjeeling tea. He was always easier to manage when tended to carefully.

My first task on waking up was to unbundle the clothing from our second flat and assess the damage. I was displeased to find that we were in possession of Mr. Cheesewright’s passport and wallet and a folder of papers from MI6. I put them away, with the papers I had removed from the pockets of our gunman.  More pleasing was the discovery of two black felt berets in the pocket of Bertie’s top coat, which could add some levity to our lovemaking. 

Darling Bertie was curled up in the bed in a snarl of sheets and pillows, looking adorably rumpled after our lovemaking, when I entered with his customary cup of tea.  Setting the cup and saucer down on the bedside table, I eased myself onto the bed carefully so as not to jar him, and gently rubbed the place between his eyebrows with my thumb.  As a young boy, I had once caught sight of a mother waking a sleeping child this way, and the novelty of such a tenderly loving gesture had impressed me greatly. Bertie had proven to be very receptive to it. 

“Love?  Wake up.”

Bertie made a few muffled noises and his eyelids fluttered open. His expression was confused until he recognized me, and the look of delight that flashed on his face seared my soul. Just as he had in London, he curled up under my chin, pressing his bare body against my shirt, grasping sleepily at my waist. I stroked his back and he sat up for a moment, then rested his head on my shoulder.

“Good morning, Reg.”

“Good morning, love.  Here, take some tea.”

“It’s perfect as always.  Thank-you, Reg.” He took a sip and then offered me the cup and I turned it to drink from the place his lips had touched.

“Reg?” He sounded nervous, and I took his hand.

“Yes, love?”

“I love you.”

I placed the tea carefully on the bedside, rattling the cup against the saucer, then folded him in my arms.  “I love you, too, Bertie.”

His voice was muffled against my shirt, but I heard him clearly.  “I thought you did, but I was… just wanted to hear you say so again.”

Our trip to the bank was annoying but uneventful. Bertie kept up a brave and even cheerful face, of course, but I foresaw that there would be a strong need for an exchange of affections in the evening, and possibly a nap before that.  

****

**Bertie**

Our next blighted stop was to see Brooks.  He was staying in a rather humble way in a largish flat south of the Seine and had I been in a better mood, I would have thought it a very nice r.h. place.  I was ready to shake the dust from the feet and scurry back to the pains and pleasures of London.  However, the fates decreed otherwise, as events will show.

Brooks was much as I remembered him.  Rather a comfortable sort of cove, extremely cheerful, and always starting conversations with a kind word. Reg and I were very much surprised when Brooks opened the door himself. I had had the impression that he had been badly wounded by his time in Colney Hatch, but he seemed to be just fine, hale and hearty and much younger and more glowing than one would have expected for a man of his age.  His look on seeing me was rummy, rather like the look of a cheerful cove who has just been smacked on the side of the head with a dead mackerel.

“Mr. Wooster?” he said in a voice replete, of that is the word I want, with love and longing, then he shook himself. “No, it’s Master Bertie, isn’t it?  You are very like your uncle. Very like, indeed.  Do come in.”

“It’s good to see you, Mr. Brooks,” I said. “This is my valet, Jeeves.”

Brooks suppressed a boggle. “Jeeves? Are you, by any chance, Charlie Foster’s nephew, Reggie Jeeves?”

Jeeves did not bat an eyelash, being very stern with his facial muscles at all times when he was with me and we were not at home behind a locked door. “Very good to meet you, Mr. Brooks.  Yes, Charles Foster is my uncle.  He sends his regards, of course.”

“My hat!” sounded a voice that reeked of the type of stern stuff that would make schoolmarms tremble in their orthopedic shoes. Uncle Jeeves shimmered into view, looking decidedly disgruntled and giving off the type of vibrations that would have caused Wooster to dive under the nearest piece of furniture had there not been an audience present.  He cast a withering look at Reg, who disdained to react. “He came to bring his own regards.  What are you doing here, Reg?” He caught sight of me and a sort of stuffed lizard look emerged. “I apologize, Mr. Wooster. I did not realize that we had the honor of…”  He stopped himself and looked, first at me and then at Reg. He boggled, as evidenced by a slight opening and closing of the lips. Reg quirked an eyebrow at him.

“It’s all right, Charlie,” said Brooks with some amusement. “I am quite sure Master Bertie will keep our secret.” I was quite sure I would keep their s. as well, as I had no dashed idea what said s. was. Reg seemed to have figured it out.  “Come in, Master Bertie,” Brooks warmly took me by the arm and settled me into the most comfortable armchair and brought me a nice glass of lemon squash. Reg was deposited in a chair, looking highly uncomfortable, and Uncle Jeeves disposed himself beside his nephew.  They held a low, muttered argument while Brooks and I spoke.

“I am dashed sorry I never knew what became of you, Mr. Brooks,” I said, pulling the box from the pocket of my green suit with the faint grey twill. It still fit reasonably well, I supposed, but it was a bit out of style, and I could not imagine why Reg had packed the thing. We seemed to be carrying all the clothes he’d mended for the collection basket. “My Uncle George spewed forth a few interesting items, and I sallied hither as soon as I could.  He ordered me to convey this, but I could not quite make out what was…”

Brooks had the box open and was holding my grandmother’s wedding ring with an expression of shock and dismay.   He fingered the part of the chain that looked like it had been broken, then placed it back in the box and opened the envelope bearing his name.  A bank booklet fell out, and a letter that looked to be in my Uncle Willoughby’s handwriting.  Brooks read the letter to himself first and then asked Reg to read it aloud. “Your uncle says that you have a very fine reading voice, young man.”

Reg looked embarrassed, as evidenced by a slight twitch of the left cheek, but he unfolded the letter.

**_Dear Brooks;_ **

**_No doubt you have been wondering about the apparent coldness that has arisen between us. I was warned that we are in danger of discovery, which I found somewhat perplexing.  In making inquiries, I learned that serious allegations about the nature of our relationship have been made.  No doubt, you find this just as shocking as I do, but rumors are dangerous things._ **

**_I have been setting aside some funds to aid in your retirement and as a thanks for the many sacrifices you have made in your service to me over the years of our association. I enclose it now.  Please save yourself, Brooks._ **

**_Your grateful employer,_ **

**_W Wooster_**  

The whole thing was dashed horrifying.  Brooks had been beaten senseless, tossed into Colney Hatch and tortured because of a rumor. “You mean you and my uncle never?”

Brooks shook his head sadly.  “It’s a long story, Master Bertie. Mr. Wooster and Mr. George had bailed me out of some trouble when Charlie and I were discovered together as young men.  Mr. Wooster and I got on quite well. There was always a liking, a very great liking, between us, but it would not have done. It was very noble of your uncle to take the blame and unnecessarily kind for Mr. George and Dr. Glossop to rescue me from that horrid place.”

Uncle Jeeves wiped a tear from the eye.  “Artie and I see each other during my holidays, two weeks a year, sometimes three. It is not much, but we do what we can.”

Brooks looked into the account book, then smiled and showed the sum to Uncle Jeeves.  “I believe that you can join me permanently now, beloved.”

Uncle Jeeves shocked everyone, most of all Reg, by rushing across the room to hug first me and then Brooks.

**Jeeves**

My uncle has been carrying on a clandestine international affair for the past dozen or so years with the lover of his youth. If it were anyone but Uncle Charlie, I would have thought the tale terribly romantic, but it seemed somewhat contrived that Bertie’s Uncle George would be reunited with his long-lost love and then convey the means for another similar reunion.  Had Lord Yaxley intended that this be the case, I wondered, or were there other forces at work?

My uncle took an early opportunity to scold me, which he did in a low tone so as not to be overheard by his long-time friend and lover, who undoubtedly had never come in for a truly “fruity” (as Bertie would say) tongue-lashing. “What did you bring your master here for?”

“Lord Yaxley requested…”

“He requested that you come and deliver the goods, Reg, not your young master.”

I drew myself up.  “How would you know that?”

“Everyone knows that the family trusts you with their errands, not him.”

Had Mr. Brooks not been in the room, a sigh would have escaped my lips.  “It happens that Lord Yaxley entrusted me with a different errand.”

“You don’t think it’s dangerous for a young unmarried man like him to be seen visiting a couple of inverts in Paris, and one of those his valet’s uncle?”

“I hope no one has seen us.”

“I hope it works, Reg.  Now tell me what there is between the two of you.”

“I have always had a warm regard for Mr. Wooster as a kind and generous employer.”

“And he?”

“Has always very much appreciated my work.”

For the first time, my uncle looked impressed with me.  He had never treated me in the contemptuous way Mr. Wooster’s aunts often treated him, but pride had not been among his defining emotions.  “You have me convinced that there is nothing between you.  I would feel much better if that remained the case, Reg. You do seem to have liked enough women, and he has certainly been entangled with any number of them.  Make life easier on yourselves.”

“I will do my best.”

Mr. Brooks interrupted us and the excitement my uncle displayed on learning that he could join his lover permanently occupied many minutes conversation. I had to suppress another sigh because I knew very well that my uncle should have long before amassed more than enough money to retire in this simple way in Paris.  It should have occurred to me at the time, and did not, why they might have preferred their lives as they had been.

****

**Bertie**

I was much chuffed for Uncle Jeeves and Brooks, or Charlie and Artie as I was being encouraged to call them.  It was amazing what a little bit of the oof could do. Why, if Jeeves had had even a tenth of the oof that I did, I would never have met him and would likely right now be married to Honoria Glossop or Florence Craye, being molded like a jelly and feeling dashed miserable. After my relations with Reg, even the thought of sleeping in the bed with one of them, let alone engaging in martial relations, curled the Wooster innards. Brooks and Uncle Jeeves were too busy twinkling at each other and pashing to take much notice of young Wooster, but Reg observed me and caught the eye, telegraphing his desire to make all right.  It warmed the Wooster cockles, er, of the heart, that is.

Of course, this happy reunion left the puzzle of the engraved ring.  “Say, Mr. Brooks,” I said when the proceedings had settled down somewhat and the happy couple were ensconced together on the couch, holding hands and smiling like a pair of lovebirds.

“Yes, my dear boy?” I glowed at the kindly tone.  It bally well made sense that Wooster would have fallen head over ears for a servant, since the warmth of tone that was balm for the W. spirit was rather thin on the ground in any other quarter.

“Why did you give that ring such a rummy look?”

Brooks and Uncle Jeeves looked acutely uncomfortable and avoided eye contact.  There was another sheet of paper in the envelope, this one written by Uncle George. Brooks read the note and refused to show it to anyone, then burned it.

“My dear boy, this ring was initially made for your mother.”

“But my father’s name does not begin with W.”

“Your mother was initially betrothed to Mr. Willoughby, and he had the ring made for her.”

“But I thought you said that he did not…”

“I would never say such a thing.  But, it did come to their attention that your father would be a better mate in many respects.”

“Ah.  I am not sure I understand.”

Reg cleared his throat. “I believe that your Uncle may have wished Mr. Brooks to destroy this ring as being a dangerous object in the family history.”

Brooks frowned at him. “I believe that Bertie should have it to do with as he pleases.  Artie, do you agree?”

Uncle Jeeves looked quite pleased to be consulted in this manner.  “I believe that anything to do with that ring should be long forgotten.”

I felt less than satisfied with this resolution, but at least Reg and I could get away and ankle it back to our flat for some much-needed affection. Now all we had to do was to examine the bally contents of the bally deposit box and scoot off for a real honeymoon.

**Jeeves**

Like Bertie, I felt dissatisfied by the explanation of that wedding ring.  It was not new, and there had to be a story behind the breakage in the chain. We might never know, but for the moment I was satisfied to leave that mystery unsolved. More pressing was the need to examine the contents of the safe deposit box.  We took our leave of Mr. Brooks and my uncle, neither of us agreeing to call them Charlie or Artie, for which I was quite grateful.  Bertie shuddered again when we left the flat.

“Are you all right, sir?”

“I believe it will wait until we are back at the flat, Jeeves.”

Our eyes met and held. No one else would have noticed anything amiss in our manner, even Bertie’s, but we were as one in that instant. It passed, but I knew that it could come again, and I prayed that our fusion of soul did not instill in me a taste for “Forty-seven Ginger-headed Sailors."

Bertie refrained from questioning me about the need to change cabs, and our clothes, and even about the fact that we were dressed in such old clothing. I had yielded to an uncharacteristically sentimental impulse in keeping the heather mixture lounge, the green with faint grey twill, the pink tie and the soft-bosomed shirts, for each of these represented a revelation in my relationship with Mr. Wooster, a situation in which I came to understand him better and to grow fonder of him. Putting him in these clothes, knowing that we would be returning to our flat to live together as friends and lovers was a means of rectifying our omissions of affection in the past. 

We reached the flat and the contents of the satchel were spread on the table: a small manila envelope bulging with papers and tied with twine, a narrow folder, a key. Another mystery.

****

 **Bertie**  

Uncle George had asked us to inconvenience ourselves and risk life and limb for a pile of papers. It was unfair to blame him for the risk to l. and l. as he had no way of knowing that we would be beset by armed coves, but I was in no mood for fairness. The first item was the will of E. Cotswold Woolf-Pritchard, my old fag master.  He had left me even unto half his kingdom and a letter, which had been sealed up in an envelope indicating that it had been thoroughly disinfected.

**_Dear Bertie;_ **

**_Frightfully sorry about the bunging and all that, in re: see the doctor’s scrawl. Made a jolly hash of things for you, I’m afraid. Pursuant to which, what with being the last of the line, they said to have a last w and t. if you are reading this, I am gone and I have bestowed on you even unto half my kingdom, in trust and whatnot.  The whole mass is being bunged to your U. George since my U. George was not all on with pipping your U. W. by giving you enough oof to defy him. Hope the legal bits work out._ **

**_Your devoted friend_ **

**_Woolf_ **

“Rummy,” I said, dashing a tear from the e. “I thought he had died in the war.”

“Most of the soldiers who died were felled by the flu, love. You must remember how terrifying it was. Georges encouraged me to stay in my situation for fear I would die a ghastly death.”

“Why did he leave me even unto half his kingdom?” Reg was applying the grey matter to the question of the last w and t.

“It appears that your friend was an orphan and the last of his line aside from his uncle, a Mr. George P. Woolf-Pritchard, who is named the executor.

“Ah.. not your officer, then?”

“It appears not.”

“You look spooked.”

“How many of your classmates were, as you say, ‘bunged’?”

I flushed.  “I’m not sure, but you saw how Cheesewright reacted to that smell. Faugh. Makes the skin crawl. It only took one bad upper former to make things hard on the little chaps. Stilton pounded the one blighter in our year who tried such a thing.”

The next was dashed embarrassing, a letter from when the doctor had sealed up the rip in my bottom.

**_…I cauterized a profusely bleeding wound in the posterior region of a young man of about 12 years of age. There had been some delay in seeking medical advice and the blood loss was great. I have advised that he not be returned to school during the term.  …_ **

It went on in great detail, describing my personal bits in a most revolting way and suggesting that it would be difficult for me to marry unless I sought additional medical advice. “I say, that’s bally embarrassing.”

Reg smoothed my hair.  “It is nothing of significance, love.”

Then there was a small bank account memo and the key. They were for a safe deposit box in Switzerland.  “Should we seek this out?”

“We cannot leave until Mr. Cheesewright returns, as he left his passport and some paperwork that cannot be entrusted to anyone.”

“Ah.”

“He is on a mission, love.”

“I am not sure I understand.”

“Nor do I, love. MI6 want Mr. Cheesewright to enlist me for some purpose.” Part of me had known this about Jeeves all along. I slumped, realizing that stealing cow creamers was probably child’s play compared with what we would have to do next.

“I think we need a long bath and a lie-down.”

“Only if you offer me adequate blandishments, love.”

I hoped I was equal to the task.

**Jeeves**

I violated Mr. Cheesewright’s privacy most grievously; however, as a servant and a spy I am well equipped to deal with the inevitable feelings of discomfort that such conduct generates.  It will be some time before I feel comfortable sharing the contents of the offer letter that Agent Cheesewright had left in his pocket.  From the time of my return to England, I would have two years to inform the MI6 of my conditions for employment. The intention was to treat me largely in an information gathering capacity, as they find my utility as a manservant to be great. The offer specifies that any condition, barring those that cause injury or death to others, may be imposed so long as I agree to serve the country as a spy during times of war.  How I am to break this news to Bertie, I do not know.  Perhaps it would be best to start slowly.

The contents of the assassin’s pockets were, in a word, vexing.  He had been hired, by letter, to shoot the British spy Wally Fortescue. The description given was vague enough to have encompassed Mr. Cheesewright, although thankfully not Bertie. 

I had had enough of mysteries and welcomed the thought of a bath and a lie-down, followed by an evening of “blandishments.” Our lovemaking that night was in every way exquisite. We disrobed each other in a lingering way, then bathed each other and retired to the bedroom. We took our time, tenderly investigating each other's bodies and seeking new ways to please each other. The next two days were spent alternating between lovemaking and taking brief strolls to the market or a bistro to eat before our desire overtook us again. In after years, I would remember those days as a precious, golden time.

Bertie has graciously allowed me to have the last word, and I find myself observing that although this marks the end of an adventure, it also marks the beginning of our shared life together. To this writing, I have remained every day sensible of my great good fortune in attaching a man as deeply gentle and passionately loving as Bertie Wooster.  Thankfully, despite our long association and the increasing fusion of soul we have experienced over the years, I can also remark on my deep gratitude at never having once had a personal desire to sing “Forty-seven Ginger-headed Sailors.”


End file.
